


Strained

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Kink, F/M, Medical Experimentation, sex sex sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: Upon injuring her ankle, Carolina undergoes some experimental treatment. None of the side effects are very good.





	Strained

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY 6/9 GUYS

“Shit!”

Carolina hit the weight room floor hard, reaching for her leg before her body even came to rest. This wasn't the first time she’d rolled her ankle in a roundhouse kick, but she could already tell this one she wasn't going to be able to simply walk off.

There was no one in the weight room with her, which wasn't a surprise, since it was nearly 0100.  She had agreed with York to spend tonight apart, but after lying awake in her own bed for nearly an hour and a half, she had finally gotten up to do some light work with the punching bag - might as well use her sleepless hours productively.

There isn't any equipment nearby that she can safely use to help her stand, so instead she levers herself over her good leg and manages to keep her balance as she pushes herself up.  She is up, she is up… but at her first experimental step her leg buckles under her completely and she hits the ground again, skinning her knee for good measure.  _ Shit. _

So now she has a problem- she can either sit here for a bit in the hope some other insomniac decides to tackle leg day early, call medical and deal with the embarrassment of the spectacle of being carted through the ship on a gurney, or she can call York for help and deal with his teasing.  None of these options are particularly appealing. 

Finally, she grits her teeth and settles on the option she knew she would pick from the start. She manages to crawl over to where she left her communicator tucked into a fold of her sweatshirt, pulls it out and messages York.

[ _ Hope you're still up - I’m in the weight room and could use some help getting to medical] _

It’s Delta who gets the message, actually; York is drowsing in bed, body exhausted but mind still running through the lock sims he’d been drilling most of the day. The cold spike of terror Delta drives into his spine is more effective than a gallon of ice water dumped on him.

_ [On our way] _

Carolina receives the message and relaxes. At least someone is coming, first part of her problem is solved.  Now with York's help she can at least hobble down to medical and hopefully get the least bad news possible. Won't be getting much sleep tonight, but all things considered, it's low priority. She's almost certainly going to be out of commission for at least one day.  Damn it, she’ll--

The sound of pounding footsteps in the hall whips Carolina’s head around and she faces the door just in time to see York skid to a stop.

York’s halfway through asking what happened by the time Delta has concluded she hurt her ankle, so what comes out is basically, “are you-- Carolina?”

“Um, last I checked? You okay, York?”

“That’s my line,” he says with a shake of his head, catching his breath before striding over to scoop her up, bridal style.  “Med-bay know you’re coming?”

“No, didn't have a ride lined up yet and didn't want them to send one. I have some pride.”  She leans into his chest, enjoying the warmth she had missed in her bed. “Want me to call them now?”

“Sure thing. You’re gonna have to hit the button for the door, though.” York adjusts his grip on her, protective feelings washing over him in a flood. In the back of his mind, Delta starts to research treatment. He resigns himself to the nosebleed that’s going to cause from mental strain in fifteen minutes and starts the long walk to the medbay.

“Soooooo,” he drawls, acutely aware that he’s still in his pajamas, which do not include a shirt, “come here often?”

“Every day.  Heard it was a great place to pick up hot security specialists.  I think I saw one I like... “ she lets out an over-dramatic sigh, “but I don't think he will ever notice me.”  

“Don’t worry. Even if he never does, you still have me,” York replies, his smile short lived but genuine. He sneaks a kiss on her hairline, voice low and gentle. “What happened, sweetheart?”

“Eh, you know how it is.  You get downed by the smallest, stupidest things.  Went for a kick, foot caught just the wrong way as I pivoted, rolled my ankle and it hurt enough that I wasn't going to be able to sort it out myself.”  She pauses a moment, shifting in his arms. “You know you don’t have to carry me, right? If you just put your arm around me while I walk, I can probably keep enough weight off it to be okay.

With the speed unit attached, Delta informs him it could have snapped her ankle. His grip on her tightens at that visual. “I’m good. What, you worried I can’t carry you all the way there? You're not even in armor, Lina Bean. I’m just glad you weren’t in the field.”

“Yeah, glad it was here too.  Fewer people shooting at me as I try to get my lame ass off the ground.”  She realizes too late that might be the wrong thing to say. “Also, fewer shirtless handsome guys on the battlefield to sweep me off my feet.  And I know you can carry me just fine...just wondering if we should be worried about the visual of you carrying me into medical looking like you're about to ravish me on our hon--” She shuts her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. Shit, she must be even more tired than she realizes.  Goddammit.

It feels like some wires have been crossed in his mind, since he isn't immediately tempted to wrap her legs around his waist and pin her to the wall. Instead he just adjusts his grip on her, heart quickening and sense hyper-tuned to his surroundings.

“Just one of the many services I offer,” York jokes, letting the honeymoon comment slide.

Carolina sighs inwardly with relief.  “Thanks for this. Not that I thought you wouldn't come.  I still appreciate it though.” She sneaks a quick kiss to his neck in thanks. “Don't want you to ever think I take you for granted.”

“Glad to help,” he soothes. “And, no, I always feel very thoroughly  _ appreciated  _ when I’m with you.”

“Good.”  Her good mood starts to slide a bit as she remembers exactly why she is in his arms.  “Dammit, I really hope this is just an ‘ice it for a day’ kind of thing. I had a lot planned out for this week, and don't want to reschedule it all.”

York hums. No sense in chiding her over pushing herself while she’s injured; the med-bay staff can do that, and let him stay on her good side. She is starting to get a little heavy, so he adjusts his grip on her again.

“At least the ravishing wouldn’t need you to be standing,” he teases instead as they finally reach the med bay doors.

“And certainly won't be rescheduled,” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. “Okay, let's get this over with.”  The doors open smoothly before them, and York sees her in.

 

* * *

 

“Six weeks??”  Carolina’s voice rises in horror and outrage.  “Six weeks to heal?”

“Six weeks to heal naturally.”  The doctor is a short woman that Carolina has never met before, with hair nearly as red as her own. Carolina has already forgotten her name.  Her tone is clipped and business-like, but not unkind. “Fortunately we have some shortcuts that will significantly reduce that time.” 

“Reduce it by how much?”  Six weeks is unthinkable, but even half of that is nearly as bad.  Too long to be sidelined with her ranking on the leaderboard in jeopardy, too long to be left off missions.  

“Depends.  You could make a full recovery in a week, as a conservative estimate. Less time than that if you follow instructions to the letter, much longer if you rush and hinder  your own healing.

Less than a week. She could handle that. Carolina looks down at her leg stretched out on the examination table, and even though she can't feel any pain as she sits still like this, there's no denying that it is already swelling. She looks up at York, sitting in a chair on the opposite wall.  His arms are folded over his bare chest and his head leaning back against the wall, but he's listening as alertly as she is. “So what do we need to do?”

“Nothing too involved tonight - since the injury is fresh and swelling, let's just focus on controlling that and your pain for tonight and will address more aggressive healing tomorrow after you have had some rest.”  The doctor turned away, rummaging through a cabinet. Eventually she turns back around to set a thick rolled bandage on the bed before handing Carolina a tiny paper cup with two small blue pills. The doctor looks over at York. “Make yourself useful, agent, and fill one of the cups near the sink for her?  Metal dispenser, little cups, see them?”

York rises smoothly to his feet, fills up the cup and hands it to Carolina. Delta’s been recording all this information and calculating his own plan for Carolina’s recovery; juggling the mental conversation with the one happening in real time leaves him hesitant to speak, just in case he replies to the wrong one.

Carolina downs both pills at the same time while the doctor begins to wrap her ankle.  It's quick work and Carolina is pretty sure she catches enough to be able to do it herself.  

“No need to stay longer.  Go back to your quarters, elevate your foot to help with the swelling and rest.  Here, one moment-” The doctor stepped out the door, and Carolina barely had time to look over at York and open her mouth to say something before the doctor sweeps back in again. 

“Here,” she repeats, wrapping a thin towel around a bundle and handing it to Carolina.  “Two ice packs. Keep one in the freezer, swap them out as you need.” The doctor picks up a tablet from her desk, taps at it thoughtfully, then looks up again from Carolina to York and back and smiles.  “If you want… an alternative mode of transportation back to your quarters, we have crutches or a wheelchair you may use.” 

Carolina felt her cheeks go pink.

At least he catches that one. “What say you, boss,” he teases, “you gonna make me your personal slave for the next week? Have me carry you like you say you always carry the rest of the team?” He’s baiting her, and he knows he isn’t being very fair, but York likes her punishments too damn well to resist.

“Agent New York, when this is over, I am going to destroy you in lock down paint.”  

He laughs. “Crutches, then? So you can hit whoever tries to give you grief?”

“Sure. Stand by for pain.”  Carolina addresses the doctor directly - “Crutches it is.”

“All right, grab those for you.” The doctor turns to York. “You could get a head start if you leave now.”

“Nah,” he says smoothly. “When she trips, someone should be there to pick her up.”

Carolina looks over at York, aghast.  “What the hell did I ever do to you? Recently?”

The doctor shooed them out the door, and York waits until she’s found a rhythm in her crutches before answering. “Well, for one, you messaged me at about 0130 hours so I could carry you to the med-bay, but I really should blame Delta for delivering that message with a side helping of panic.”

_ “You seem to be implying that you did not contribute your own anxiety to the situation upon reading that Agent Carolina was injured,” _ the AI sniffs, despite lacking a nose or a need to breathe.

“Yeah, so I didn’t need you adding to the situation.”

_ “I simply thought you should arrive as quickly as possible.” _

“Fuck you,” York says softly, and for a moment he seems to mean it, something raw and frightened ghosting behind his eyes. It’s gone just as fast.

“York?”  Even while trying to get used to maneuvering on crutches, Carolina couldn't  miss the look that passed over his face. “You okay? I'm sorry, I should have just called medical from the start. It wasn't fair for me to drag you out for this.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t asleep, you’re fine,” he grins back. “Glad I could help. And looking forward to making sure you follow this treatment plan religiously.” 

If he didn’t worry about knocking her over, he’d give her a friendly knock in the shoulder. As it is, his gaze lingers over her, and he has to fight the urge to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way to her room.  She’s a grown woman, can take care of herself better than he can and still have strength to spare to clean up his messes, but he aches to sweep her up and soothe, protect--

( _ “A natural hormonal response.” _ “I’m not talking to you right now.”  _ “I was simply trying to assure you that there is no shame in having these kinds of feelings towards Agent Carolina. It’s only to be expected, with the sexual and romantic bond between you two--” _ “shut up shut up shut up.”)

York stumbles and glares at nothing, rubbing the back of his neck. (“... Point taken.”)

“You sure you're okay?”  Carolina stops to fiddle with the crutches briefly, already making a mental note to re-adjust the height once she's back at her room.  “I can get by with just one crutch if you want the other?” She waits until he looks over to give him a wink.

York’s heart lurches, caught up in a wave of affection so strong he has to scoop her up again, throwing her over his shoulder and snatching her crutches.

“Come here,” he says, voice heavy with the weight of his love, “I’m taking you home.”

“This isn't very dignified,” Carolina says conversationally, “but at least I've got a good view.”  She reaches down and pats his ass. “Giddyup.”

He lowers his voice. “God, I love you so fucking much,” and he walks a little bit faster.

York turns around, carefully, so Carolina can key in the lock on her door. Carefully leans the crutches against the wall, carefully lays her down, carefully closes and locks the door behind them. 

He puts the extra ice pack in her climate-controlled storage, pushing aside some cans of protein shakes to make room, and starts to built up a nest of pillows. “We’re gonna need more to keep that leg elevated, let me slip down to laundry.”

“York?”  Carolina gestures for him to come closer, and when he does, she drags him down for a kiss.  “Thanks.” A second kiss. “Hurry back.” 

“I will. Gotta take care of my girlfriend, yeah?” He presses his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. She’s going to be fine. He’s blowing this out of proportion. “I love you,” York says, louder than he had in the hall but with such intensity it nearly makes his eyes sting. “Try not to resprain anything while I’m gone, you over-achiever.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” She rubs her nose against his.  “I’ll be good. Can you help me change when you get back? I probably could do it myself but after your smartass remarks earlier, I might as well put you to work.”  Carolina kisses him one last time and whispers again, “Hurry back.”

York tears himself away and heads back out into the hall. Delta’s already prepared a checklist of things to get, including the order in which to get them for “maximum efficiency on foot” so York kind of lets his mind wander as he walks.

The need to go back and fuss over Carolina is a near-tangible pull, an ache in his heart, a mantra to take care of her and meet her every want, tend to her injury and keep her company. It’s a dangerous one that leads down roads of deep and distant needs of things he can’t give her, not yet. 

( _ “As I said before, it is an understandable instinct.” _ “She isn’t even that badly injured.”  _ “In my experience, sentiment and hard-wired biology seldom listen to reason.”) _

Delta pauses.

(“What?”  _ “I was simply envisioning how you two might behave when and if Agent Carolina ever became pregnant and was allowed to keep it.” _ )

 

This time, York stumbles on his own accord, nearly dropping the armful of blankets and pillows he’s reclaimed. He buries his face in the bedding and moans.

(“Don’t just-- say stuff like that, okay? Not until we know we’re on our way out.”  _ “Are you sure? Based on the spike in your heart rate and the fluctuation of--” _ “I want it so badly it hurts.”  _ “... Understood.” _ )

Carolina stretches out in bed, finally starting to relax.  The lonely restlessness she'd felt earlier in the night that had driven her from her bed is gone now, was gone from the moment York entered the weight room.  It stings a bit to realize that had she been with him tonight, sleeping in his bed, this wouldn't have happened. It hurts all the more because if it was possible, she would share a bed with him every night.  But that isn't possible, not in this world they have chosen to live in, and now she has to live with some very unexpected consequences. Still, it did mean that she got to be carried by a half-dressed York through the halls of the MOI - silver linings.

There is a small knock at her door and Carolina nearly pushes herself out of bed before she remembers not to.  “Come in, York.”

He does, though he has to wait for the door to completely open before he can make his way into the room with his arms so full of bedding.  He pretends to stagger into the room, depositing the mound of blankets on the bed. York searches briefly through the pile and lays a bag of pretzels and the book she had left in his room both on the bed next to her.  

“Thought you’d like these,” he says simply, and starts to get out a set of pajamas. “Got a preference of what to wear?”

“You.” Carolina flashes him a tired smile. “But if i have to have something else, either the grey nightgown or that long blue shirt… then we don't have to worry about pants and it will make everything easier. And…” she adds, easing her fingers under the elastic of her workout shorts, “...would give you easy access.”

“... They gave you pain meds, didn’t they?” York says with a resigned sigh. “My sweet loopy loosy goosy Carolina bean,” he soothes, grabbing the nightgown and coming back to bed, “if we raincheck so you can get some sleep, will you be disappointed?”

She laughs softly, reaching for his hand.  “York, I'm so tired I might not be able to stay awake to the end of this conversation. So no… I'm fine.  But I admit, I'm disappointed any time we miss the opportunity to bone in my bed.” She starts to slide her shorts down for real this time, awkwardly trying to maneuver them past her ass while laying down.  “Help?”

“You said bone,” he teases, but helps her shorts and underwear off anyway. Eating her out anyway crosses his mind, but so does his conversation with Delta in the hallway, so he moves his attention up to her chest and helping her out of her sports bra and top.

Her skin is clammy with sweat in a couple places, and he makes a face in sympathy. “Be right back,” and York gets up again to fetch a washcloth and some soap from the bathroom.

“Is it weird for me to admit this is kinda turning me on?” Carolina asks him sleepily when he returns. “Not enough to keep me awake… but still kind of… you know.”

“D keeps blaming my ‘animal instincts,’” York confesses as he rubs the cloth over her skin, massaging away the worst of the grime. “So, I’m not that surprised I guess. Keep talking like that, though, I might change my mind,” and he rubs the cloth between her breasts, locking eyes with her as his thumb strokes just along a nipple. “But then in the morning you’ll be extra tired, and then where will we be? Can’t blame late night training when the med-bay sent you home at two.”

Carolina’s lips part and her eyes half-close as he touches her breast, but she manages to rally.  “Should be more worried about you. At least I won't be expected to do much tomorrow, and if I'm tired, simple enough to say pain kept me awake for a while. But you don't have that luxury. Otherwise I would insist on sex, no matter how tired I am.”  She raises her hand, lets her fingers drift over his chest. “Are you going to stay?”

“Yes.” He moves down her stomach, the small of her back, her thighs and wants so badly to bury his face between them but even that is second to the need to hold her close, cradle her in his arms and spoil her rotten. A brief kiss before he drapes the rag over her headboard and switches to a towel, rubbing circles in her skin to warm and dry it.

Carolina makes a sound deep in her throat as he works, a tiny chirp of contentment.  “You don't have to do this, you know. You could be in bed right now, getting that sleep you need.” She yawns, then reaches out to touch his face, fingers trying to smooth the worry out of him. “It's only my ankle, York.  God, what would you be like if I ever got seriously hurt?”

“Like this, same as always,” he says, falsely chipper. “Do my best to patch you up and watch your back.” This towel gets draped over the headboard, and he helps guide her into her nightgown.

It takes a little bit of work to crawl into the bed on her opposite side, navigating his way around all the pillows, but York curls up next to her and sighs. “It's actually kind of fun,” he admits. “You don’t usually let me spoil you this much. Most I can get to do is bring you coffee, maybe hold your hand if you were hurting and wanted something to squeeze.”

“Mmm. Might just be because I'm tired. Can't let you see me this soft all the time. I have a reputa-” A yawn interrupts before she can power through. “-tion to uphold. Number One Freelancer badass. Can't have --” Another yawn. “...shit, I think I'm done. Don't let me... sleep in, ‘kay?  Too much... to do and…”

He watches her go limp against the pillows and stays perfectly still, every sense trained on her vital signs. Once he's satisfied she’s simply asleep, York relaxes against her, sets an alarm on her (identical to his) clock and lets his eyes close.

 

* * *

 

She hears the alarm go off and tries to reach over to slap at it, but her hand doesn't move.  Carolina cracks open an eye, turns her head to see York next to her and still asleep. His arm is draped across her, his hand clasping hers, fingers woven together and sitting low on her stomach. It's impossible for her to reach the clock like this, and they have to get moving.  “York… hey, get the alarm. Wake up.”

He cracks one eye open - unfortunately his bad one - and then the other, blinking blearily. He obeys but uses the motion to drape himself on top of her instead.

“Apparently the shooting range is down for scheduled maintenance today,” he mumbles. “That frees your morning up, right?” 

“I wish. Meeting Wash on the track for a run in… what time is it?”

“Half past six, and you better not be running anywhere,” York grumbles, kissing her neck and settling against her. 

“Sorry hon, but I've got a long day ahead of me. You can stay here and sleep if you've got nothing scheduled but I gotta go.”  Carolina gently pulls her hand from his and starts to sit up, but notices the pillows, and even more telling, her bandaged foot propped up at the end of the bed.  “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” York coaxes her back down with a gentle tug on her shoulder, curling against her once more. “So your morning is clear if you want to go back to sleep. I can bring you--” he pauses to yawn, he’d slept lightly and worried over her most of the night. “Bring you breakfast in bed if y’ want it. And when you want a new ice pack. And anything else you need.”  

“Breakfast would be nice. But only if you bring some for yourself, and you don't try to feed me like a baby bird. But first -” Carolina presses herself against him as much as she can, leaning in for a slow, lingering kiss. “-thank you. I love you.”

“Like I said. ‘s kind of fun.” He kisses her back, a little too deeply, his body reminding him that he’s had all night to think about what he’d denied himself. “Mmm. Better get going. I'll be back as soon as I can,” he promises, and makes sure her book is in her reach as he carefully climbs over her and (after a check that the hallway was clear) heads out the door. 

Carolina watches him go with a surge of fondness.  She closes her eyes, not to rest but just to picture him more clearly in her mind in his absence. Shit, she should probably message Wash, let him know she has to cancel, but reaching over the bed would probably be just enough exertion to make York break out in a cold sweat, so she'll wait until he's back to ask for it. He truly seems to be enjoying waiting on her, so she'll go along with it. For a bit. 

She tests her leg, but a careful attempt to point and flex her foot shows there has been no improvement overnight, and it feels even more swollen despite the bandage.  She does move it off the pillows, though - there is a slight pins-and-needles feeling from it being propped up a little too long, but she sure as hell won't tell York that. 

Ugh, if she is forced to stay in bed for too long during this ordeal, she's going to go crazy, she can feel it already.  If she's alone anyway - maybe she can tempt him into something fun to break up the monotony when he comes back. But until then, at least he brought her book.  Carolina snags it off the bed, opens to her bookmark and tucks in.

York takes longer to get breakfast than he’d wanted, talking out schedule changes with Florida and Connie as he’d met them in the mess hall, then waiting for Florida to leave before slipping off with the rest of his food and grabbing some for Carolina. While he’s pretty sure most of the other Freelancers know, Florida has firmly established his disgust at their fraternization. In contrast, Connie just rolls her eyes as he sneaks off. 

He makes good time in the halls at least, and returns to Carolina’s room with the fauxtmeal still hot and edible. (When cool and congealed, it made a popular adhesive for amateur craft projects.)

Carolina smiles widely as he enters, for him, if not for the food. “One of these days I'll have to talk you into being a Musketeer for the Halloween party,” she says, tapping the cover of her book before marking and closing it. “You would look fantastic in a doublet.” 

“Isn’t that some kind of sheet?” he asks, placing the tray on her lap as she scoots into a sitting position. 

“Nope. Frilly shirt, or something. You'd look delicious.” Carolina picks up a spoon  and digs into the oatmeal. “Thanks again,” she adds, before putting the first spoonful in her mouth.

“I can make anything look good,” York says, making a point of stretching his arms in front of her, flexing his abs as his shirt rides up. 

“Mmm.”  Carolina let's her eyes deliberately travel up and down his body before giving him a wink. “Eat,” she mumbles through a mouthful of mush. “Show off after.”

He complies, draping himself perpendicular to her at the foot of the bed behind the pillow stack. His free hand strokes up and down her knee as he eats, laying on his back, for all the world completely carefree. 

It’s a pretty accurate look. He’s quite content with this, the satisfaction that Carolina is comfortable and tended to, the subtle warmth of her thigh under his hand. York heaves a pleased sigh and takes another bite of biscuit with no consideration to the small shower of crumbs that falls down his neck to no doubt become lost in the sheets and his shirt.

“How’d’ya feel?” he asks, swallowing.

“Meds are wearing off, so a bit sore,” Carolina admits, “but not bad. We'll have to see once I'm up and moving around in a bit. I'll have to head back to medical anyway to figure out the next step for getting this taken care of and healed up as fast as possible.  Feels more swollen today, probably should re-ice and fix the wrap for a little while before heading over.” She stirs the oatmeal for a moment, watching him. “Everything okay with you and Delta? Yesterday things seemed… kinda tense.”

“Yeah, he can just be a real cockbite sometimes. Intentionally or not.” York keeps up his gentle movements on her knee. “But I can be one too, so. You want me to come with you? I can promise I won't swoop you up and carry you again.”

“I'm not in any hurry,” Carolina reaches carefully over her tray to catch his hand in hers.  “Let’s take our time.”

York sighs and threads their fingers together. “You sure? If you’re hurting…”

“I'll be fine.  And if I'm not, you can kiss it better.” Carolina smiles. “I'm willing to take that chance.”

Setting aside his food, York crawls over to hold himself over her and kiss her on the mouth, tasting a bit of oatmeal on her lips as he does so. “Ice,” he says as he pulls away, “and painkillers. Do you have any painkillers in here?”

“Nothing very strong.  Mmm.” Carolina steals another kiss before he can pull away.  “Might be some acetaminophen. You can check in the drawer in the bedside table. Uh, don't mind any...personal stuff you might find in there.”

He leans over her and flips through some of the items. “Well,” and he picks up a vibrator, “some might consider this a painkiller.” Before he can let himself think about it, York licks a sensual stripe up the side of it and replaces it in the drawer, resuming his search. “Doesn’t look like you have any. Okay. Be right back,” and he very carefully eases one leg over her, straddling her before stepping over and out of bed.

“Jesus  _ Christ  _ York.” Carolina feels her face turn red as she bites her fist and tries not to laugh. “Hey, wait.” Carolina snags his hand again as he gets to his feet next to the bed.  “I'm going to be heading back to medical really soon anyway. I can pick something up then, something stronger than you'll likely be able to find anyway. What I could really use is a hand with the bandage.  You know how to wrap these things?”

“Uhhhhhh,” York’s eyes flick to the ceiling as he checks with Delta, “I can now.” He moves back to his spot from last night beside her, kneeling next to her leg and starting to undo the wrappings with painstaking care. “Like this, right?”

“Yeah. That's fine.  You're… oh.” Carolina grimaces as the rest of the wrap comes off. “Definitely more swollen than yesterday.”

York winces, already on the move again. “Ice for sure,” and he fetches the ice pack from the insulated storage, replacing it with the old one. Back to the bathroom to wrap it in a towel, then helping her find a comfortable position in bed with the pack on it. 

“How’s that feel?”

“Nice, thanks.”Carolina fidgets a bit, settling herself back into the nest. “Oh no...now I'm getting cold from the ice.  However will I warm up?” She smiles, holding out both hands to York. 

With a dramatic sigh, York takes her hand and starts pressing kisses to each knuckle, easing himself into her embrace once he’s done each one. No sooner has he closed his eyes than he remembers (or, to be accurate, Delta reminds him) that he has a very full day ahead of him.

“Shit. I need to be going pretty soon. … ten minutes ago, soon.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”  Carolina tries to rein in the disappointment in her voice, isn't sure she succeeds. “Yeah, I've taken up so much of your time this morning, last night.”

She gives his shoulder a nuzzle, then a gentle shove. “Get going. I'll get changed and head out to medical. I'll send you an update if there's anything worth saying.  Go.”

“I’ll miss you too, but since you're laid up and I'm your faithful  _ third _ ,” he emphasizes, having seen the leader board change this morning, “someone has to help pick up the slack. Get--” he punctuates with kisses-- “some-- rest--. I will be back with lunch. Aaaand more treats.”

Carolina’s eyes light up at the news, followed by a wave of guilt that she hadn't yet noticed.  It’s been a slow climb for him, after his injury. “Congratulations. I knew it was just a matter of time. Sounds like something to celebrate later. But for now, go. Before it gets too hard to let you go.”

“Too late,” he says softly, a little too serious, “it's always too hard to go.”

York gets up and heads out the door, checking that she’s got everything she needs in reach.

“Call if you need anything. Me, medical, North, whoever. And take care.”

The door closes shut behind him with a click.

Carolina looks at her unwrapped foot, the crutches against the wall, the distance to her dresser and bathroom, and the crumbs on her sheets. She sighs, and starts dismantling the pillow nest to exit the bed. She would have had to do it all without him anyway, in other circumstances.  She can manage. 

She swings her legs out over the side of the bed and reaches for her crutches. Time to start her day.

 

* * *

 

Carolina already regrets going to the mess hall. 

Seemed like a no brainer at first. She needed a little time out of her room and she was getting hungry.  She hadn't stopped to think that she couldn't carry hardly anything while on crutches, especially a laden food tray, but once she appeared in the door, there was one teammate after another, all asking how it happened, all wishing her a speedy recovery, and all joking they were going to try and edge her out as Number One while she's out of commission.  She had laughed along and returned fire, but after the fifth such conversation she was ready to just leave.

The session at medical was not what she hoped for.  The red-headed doctor did another quick exam, showed her a better way to wrap her ankle and explained that the swelling needed to be reduced before they attempted accelerated healing, as the fluid buildup could cause the ligaments to heal unevenly.  She gave her two separate pills this time, one for swelling and one for pain, but she hadn't taken either yet, since the doctor had said one would make her feel sleepy. She figured it would be better to wait until she was off her crutches before subjecting herself to that. 

It's just as she’s gotten back to her room that York returns, a little out of breath.

“Running a little late today between sessions, but--” he sets down the crate he was carrying, revealing a small set of dumbbells in varying sizes. “If case you wanna do some  _ light _ exercises.”

It's hard for her to smile but she does it anyway, because he deserves it. “Thanks York, I appreciate it. That was sweet of you.” She's uncomfortably aware that his nest is still scattered on her floor - she hadn't had the time to wrestle her sheets back on yet, and doesn't really have the energy right now.  “Get moving. I'll see you tonight.”

“Want me to help you tidy up? Or is this down for a reason?”

“No, I can take care of it. I'm capable. Go on.”  Carolina totters over to scoop her fitted sheet off the ground. “Go work. Might not be here when you get back. Have to go back to medical. In fact can you give me a call at-” she checks her bedside clock, “- 1700 hours and make sure I'm up?”

“Okay.” Watching her struggle makes his hands itch to step in and help her anyway. “See you tonight. Call me if you need anything, seriously, it's no trouble--”

“Sure, I'll do that.” Absolutely not. “Go have a good day.” She gets the first corner on, pauses so he won't see her fumbling more.  “Talk with you later.”

He leaves without another word.

Carolina heard the door close and her shoulders slump.  It takes her a while to wrestle the sheet on, and she shakes the crumbs out of of the flat sheet peevishly before settling it back over the bed.  She picked up the pile of pillows and blankets, and dropped them in the center of the bed. She stood, looking at them for a moment, then tried to rearrange them back as close to the original nest York had made.  Carolina took her pills, grabbed an ice pack from her storage and pulled herself up into the center of the nest. She manages to balance the bag on her ankle, curls up around herself and waits to sleep.

 

* * *

 

It so happens that York has a few minutes free just before the time Carolina had requested a wake up call, so he sprinted back to his room to snag something before heading to her room and knocking.

“It's me,” he calls, and slides the door open. She’s asleep, tangled in bedding with her injured leg raised, ice pack on the floor. The wave of pity and affection he feels makes him slump in the doorway before he slips in and closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” and he kisses her forehead. “This is your 1700 wake up call. It comes bearing gummy peach rings to hide from your doctor because sugar is only good for your mood.”

Carolina doesn't move or open her eyes but -- “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, moving his mouth down for cheek kisses. The little bag of candy he tucks under her bed. “Want me to go get the wheelchair and take you to the med bay?”

“Sure.” She's too tired and sluggish to care and if anyone tries to tease her, they can go fuck themselves.  She's not feeling up to crutches. Not sure she use them safely right now anyway. 

“Be right back,” he promises, sealing it with one last kiss and then hurrying back down to the medical bay.

He was hoping for the doctor from before, Ginger, or even Tricia. But it's someone else entirely, and he gives York a hard look when he explains the situation.

“If Agent Carolina is unable or unwilling to walk down to Medical, it is Medical’s responsibility to deliver her. Thank you for your message, Agent York. We will be down to retrieve her shortly.”

“Oh, I don't mind--”

“I'm sure you don't,” the nurse says icily, and York snaps his mouth closed. “Good day.”

He nods curtly, and exits; heading back to his room. (“ _ You need to eat, Agent York.” _ “And I will. Just let me do this really fast, okay?”)

Carolina didn't bother to move when she heard the knock at the door. “Come in.”

There was a rattling rustling sound outside her door, and a delay just long enough to make her lift her head with a frown.  York knew her security code, and even if he had his arms full, he would announce himself, or make a joke, or she just  _ knew _ it was him. She could tell.  Whoever is outside the door letting themselves into her room is not York.  

Carolina shoves the pillows off the back of her bed and slides to hunker behind the bed, wincing as her bad ankle takes more weight than it is ready for. Keeping an eye on the door, she quietly opens the drawer on her bedside table and grabs the first knife she can find.

The door finally opens and fortunately the first thing she sees is a wheelchair. When the nurse in blue scrubs steps onto her room, she relaxes slightly but doesn't let down her guard.

“Agent Carolina?”  The nurse spots her behind the bed and his expression says a lot about how many strange encounters he has had in Freelancers’ rooms. He doesn't even bother to hide his sigh.  “Agent York informed us you require assistance down to medical.”

“He did?” Carolina clenches her jaw shut to keep from asking why York wasn't here himself, and then choked back her next impulse to insist on going alone on her crutches. She instinctively knew that neither response would get a positive reaction.  Instead, she carefully stands behind the bed, and makes a show of tossing the knife onto the center of the pillow nest and hobbles around the bed to sit in the chair with chilly dignity.

“Let's go, then.”  As the nurse pushes her out the door, Carolina pulls out her communicator and surreptitiously fires off a message to York.

[Wtf. I nearly killed a damn nurse who came to my room. He said you told medical I needed help? If you were too busy you didn't have to tell me you'd do it. Just let me deal with it on my own.] 

As soon as she sends it, a chill of terror strikes her.

[Wait omg did something happen to you? You okay York?]

[shit yeah I'm fine they wouldn't let me do it sorry I didn't say something] comes the reply, half a minute later. And then, in addition, [Agent York is simply low on blood sugar and is in need of food. Otherwise he is fine.]

Carolina states down at the communicator, formulating and dismissing a score of potential messages before finally settling on “go eat”.  Without waiting for a response she tucks it away in her pocket. She thinks she hears it beep, but ignores it, already thinking ahead to what comes next for her treatment as the nurse pushed her through the doors into medical.

 

* * *

 

“We’re here.”

Carolina had tried to stay awake the entire wheelchair ride back to her quarters, but the fact that she was snapping back awake proved she had failed.  The nurse uses a master key card to open her door, and wheels her in. 

Her bed is still covered in the materials from York's nest, but right now Carolina would still have happily climbed up to sleep on broken glass. The moment the wheelchair stops, she was already pulling herself up to stand, waving away the nurse who attempts to assist her.  Luckily the bed is only a step away, so hopping is not required.

“Do you need any further assistance?”  She simply shakes her head, and the man left with the wheelchair, content to let her struggle if that is what she wishes.  Carolina started to crawl into the nest, but stopped a moment before she would have put her hand down on the knife she’d left there. She picked it up and tossed it toward her nightstand, only to watch it hit and continue past to fall off the back of the table. Carolina sighs and makes a mental note to find it later.  

She doesn't bother to change her clothes, just collapses to wrap her arms around the nearest pillow.  But as she does so, her hand gets tangled in some thick material underneath. She lifts the pillow with a frown to find a folded black sweatshirt.  She picks it up-- it clearly wasn't hers, it is far too large. She unfolds it and breaks into a smile. Across the front are large words printed in white and red, “I (heart) New York.” A piece of paper falls out of a fold in the shirt and she picks it up to read it.

“might not be back until late; maybe this'll keep you warm until then. love you. see you in the morning. <3"

Didn't matter how tired she is - Carolina immediately strips off her shirt and bra then pulls on his sweatshirt.  It is worn and soft, and as it goes over her head she hesitates, breathing deep. It even smells like him. She settles it around her, down to her hips.  And after a moment’s deliberation, Carolina removes her shorts and panties as well. Leave him a little surprise of her own.

Carolina curls herself around her pillow again, fully intending to wait for him, knowing for certain she will fail.  Within two minutes of laying down, she is already asleep.

 

* * *

 

Even with Delta’s help with time management (though he declined Delta’s suggestions on how to make his eating more efficient) York doesn't finish up his responsibilities for the day until past 2300. His own fault; he’s been leaving too many reports until their deadlines, electing instead to socialize or help others with short assignments.

He fires off a brief [ _ on my way _ ] to Carolina and doesn't wait for a response, taking the longer but less traveled route to her room and typing her code in.

Once again, she’s asleep, his heart monitor on her bedside table; a gift he’d made for her before a solo mission one time, a little device that transmitted his vitals from his armor so she knew he was alive even when he couldn’t contact her. It’s off now but she would have heard it beating earlier as he trained. He closes the door as softly as possible and follows Delta’s coaching to navigate in the dark to her bedside.

“Carolina,” he whispers, “it's York. I'm gonna climb in-- promise not to stab me, okay?”

She shifts in her sleep, murmurs what might have been his name. He trusts it’s enough of an answer and crawls into bed beside her, one arm over her stomach holding her close. She’s wearing his sweatshirt, too big and loose on her by no means frail and tiny frame, but it makes him feel overprotective anyway. Par for the course.

He goes to pull the blanket over her bare legs and lightly follows the path of one up to her hip; his breath catches in his throat when he finds her wearing nothing underneath. York withdraws his hand and covers her in the sheets. Tomorrow morning, then. Maybe he’ll wake her up with sex.

Carolina may be a total badass, but she’s  _ his _ badass, and still a person on top of that. It's in his nature to be compassionate and try to help with what he can; it's just more pronounced around her. Doesn't help that he can't stop thinking about what Delta said about how he’d react if she was carrying his kid. It's a far off daydream that has too many obstacles on its way to count, but the image of a few tiny Carolinas running around some backyard in the sun puts a smile on his face as he curls up next to her.

He hums, very softly, a slow tune he’s sent to her before. Not with the intent of disturbing her, but that she knows even in her sleep that he came back to her as promised. But not even York can stay awake forever, and he lets himself slip away into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Carolina resurfaces from sleep peacefully, a gentle progression from dreams to wakefulness.  It takes her a moment to realize that the warmth at her shoulders and neck is actually from York's lips, and the soothing pressure against her thigh is his hand, doodling shapes into her skin with his fingers.  Carolina gives a sigh of pure contentment and snuggles back against him.

“Morning,” he says, deep and pleased; he’s been up for a while now, long enough to get a drink and a head start on some of today’s records. There's a cup of water on the nightstand that’s beading condensation, and he waits for a drop to hit the tabletop before he kisses the corner of her mouth.

“Mmm.”  Carolina opens her eyes finally, searching him out.  “Thank you for your gift last night. Only thing better than a shirt smelling like you is you smelling like you.” She smiles, grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him in for a long lazy kiss.  She finally releases him in favour of looking into his eyes. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Glad you liked that,” he says, visibly pleased with himself. “And I did sleep, yeah. Doesn't feel like long enough, but I missed you too much to stay out too long.”

He slides his hand up her thigh to her bare hip. “Seems like you missed me, too. I pulled D already; wanna make love?”

“Absolutely.” Carolina turns toward him, hooking her healthy leg behind his hip to pull him closer. She cups her hand over his now empty port and meets his lips with her own already parted, eager to drink him in.

There's an aftertaste in her mouth that reminds him of the sweet-metallic taste his healing unit leaves on his tongue, and a flash of worry chills him. York meets her hunger with gentle affection, her firm grip on his neck with a thumb brushing her hipbone, and tries to empty his mind of the fear of reinjuring her.

“So,” he murmurs, hoping the conversation can distract him as the hand on her hip slides up to caress a breast, “you gonna mind if I ask you to leave the hoodie on? Because, call me an egotist, but I really like how it looks on you. Kind of want you to wear it the whole time.”

“Of course. I'd been kinda planning on doing that anyway. Feels a little bit like you're marking me as yours -” Carolina catches his lip in her teeth “- and you know how I like that. We just have to be a little careful so it doesn't  _ really  _ start smelling like me.”

York doesn't bother to conceal the way that statement makes him feel, humming in agreement as he kisses back a little rougher this time. “Wish you could do the same for me, but nothing you’ve got hardly fits. Oh well, guess you’ll just have to bite the shit out of me again,” he teases, pushing the sweatshirt up to her chin to feast on her breasts. He kneels between her legs, still fully clothed in boxers and sweatpants, and gets to work riling her up. Tender still but with enough force in the suction of his mouth on her nipples, enough teeth, enough desperate moans to give her the stimulation he knows she loves.

Carolina’s moan is full throated, and she clutches him to her breast, stroking his hair. “ _ Yes _ , York.”  One hand drops down to slide over the front of his sweats, applying gentle pressure as she strokes over him with her palm.  “Fuck  _ yes.” _

Her touch breaks his focus, makes him pull away to gasp, eyes fluttering shut as his back arches. He sits back, enough to give her better access, and dedicates both hands to the task of touching her, gently rolling the stiff peaks between thumb and forefinger before yanking the sweatshirt down and kneading her through it.

“I love how hard you get for me,” Carolina leans forward to whisper to him, locking eyes. “How fast you get hard.” She adds a tiny bit more force to her stroke, not enough to hurt, but just enough to draw a moan out of him as he grinds against her hand. “But one of these days I want to get to you before you get hard - maybe first thing in the morning, go down on you while you sleep. Just so I can feel you get hard in my mouth.”  She puts some extra force into her next kiss as well. “What do you think? Would that be all right?”

“That's,” York manages to say around a strangled gasp, “a thought, f-for sure, yeah-- Not sure how I feel about the sleep thing, but I’m, oh god, I’m down for the c-concept.”

“We don't have to do it while you are asleep if that makes you uncomfortable.” Carolina takes the lustful edge off her voice, softening it so something more gentle. “Just trying to think of a way that I can get to you in time.  Seems every time I get close,” She leans forward to nibble at his throat, “you go rock hard before I can make a move.”

“You know for most people that wouldn't be considered a _bad_ _thing_ ,” he teases, kissing her sweetly once more. “I'll think about it. Later. When I _can_ think, and in explicit detail. For now, though,” and he bites his lower lip and drinks in the sight of her flushed and pleased under him, wearing his favorite hoodie. “I really, really wanna be inside you.”

“Kinda hard to do that still dressed.” Carolina fights the urge to grind against him, naked and wet as she is. “And I haven't heard if the laundry situation has been sorted out yet, so you might want to take them off before I wrap my legs around you and try to make you come in your pants.”

“It’s still broken as shit,” and he yanks off his shirt, eyes never leaving her. “Might wanna grab a towel or something so you don't get come stains on these sheets.” York regards the shirt in his hands. “... I don't care about this one. Here. Raise your hips and I’ll lay it under you.” 

“Can I keep it?” Carolina asks, trailing her fingers down his arm as he tucks it under her. “You know how much I love wearing your stained s-- oh.”  Carolina pauses for a second. “York, would you mind wearing a condom? Just for today?”

“... sure? Do you have any in here? If not, then, fuck, I’ll just eat you out and come back later.” He does  _ not _ want to run back to his room when he's this hard.

“They're in the drawer you were rummaging around in earlier.  You might have been too distracted playing with my… toy… to notice them.”

Shit, if that isn't a great idea too. “Hey,” he starts casually, hunting for the condoms as he talks, “since you're not really going to need to walk much today… want me to use that on you?”

Carolina’s arousal feels like warm water being poured down her spine, flooding her body with heat.  “Yes.” Fuck joking, fuck being coy. “Yes. Please.” 

“All right.” He checks the little silicone vibrator for batteries and turns it on with a twist. It hums to life in his hands, and York watches Carolina’s reaction to it; how her face gets even more red, lips parting, eyes darkening. Letting saliva pool on his tongue he licks it to get it nice and slick, and pushes her sweatshirt up again to draw a vibrating line down her chest.

Carolina can actually feel herself getting wetter. Her face is burning with want and anticipation and it takes every bit of self control she has to let him move at his own speed, with his own plan. She lets her fingers slide down his arm before reaching down to snag a handful of sheets. He's hardly even touched her yet, and she still can't stop a groan from escaping her lips.

“You like that, huh?” There's no mocking lilt to his tone, no gleeful basking in the power he might hold over her, but an honest delight at her pleasure. “Yeah you do.” And he circles the blunt end of the toy around one of her nipples. “How's that? You want it here? Or lower?”

“I want -” Carolina swallows hard, tries and fails to keep her even and calm. “-want it lower. Eventually.  Soon. But… do what you want. Play.” She wants to close her eyes, press her head back into her pillow, but she can't bear to pull her gaze from his.

York leans forward and kisses her sweetly, deeply. “I want to do what  _ you _ want, my love. And…” he hesitates, then adds in a lower tone of voice, “ _ play _ is something you do with an object. You are not something to be used. I am going to  _ worship _ you, Carolina,” and he drags the vibrator down to hum just inches above her clit, “because that's what you deserve.”

“Fuck.”  Carolina is panting, lightheaded. “Turn- turn it off. We can- later.  God, fuck me York. Fuck me. I love you, I need you. Now. Nothing can- for me- like you. Shit.”  She fumbles to push his hand aside and pull him down to her at the same time to reach his mouth. “Fuck me.  Please.”

York drops the vibrator, still on, on the bed next to her and meets her devouring kiss with passion, bracing himself over her with one hand and yanking down his pants with another. He almost forgets himself and plunges into her just like that, but remembers her orders in time. The condom package he tears open with his teeth, spitting out the foil as he works the condom over his dick.

“Was gonna do both,” he pants, lifting her uninjured thigh to ease the head of cock inside her. “Fuck you and-- use your vibrator. That still okay?”

This moan is a tiny broken thing, and Carolina can't even speak, just nods her head.  She runs her fingers down his arm, touch soft until she finally closes them over him to grip his wrist.

York waits until he’s fully sheathed inside of her, dropping his forehead down against hers and rubbing their noses together as he catches his breath, to reach for the vibrator again. The first touch of it against her hipbone makes her tighten around him and it's his turn for soft, vulnerable noises as he starts up a slow, steady rhythm in counterpoint to the vibrator’s hasty buzz. He traces it across her lower stomach and then presses it just above her clit, not too close as to sting but enough that he can almost feel the vibrations through her bones as he fills her over and over.

Carolina is used to moving against him as they fuck, used to whispering encouragement and trying to coax out all his little noises that she loves.  She usually revels in the way he shakes below her or above her, the way his body tenses in response to her touch. But right now, here in this moment, all of this is unthinkable.  She can barely feel his skin where it touches hers, feel anything other than the movement of his cock inside her and the hum that permeates her entire body, lighting up her nerves and promising so much more to come. 

So she holds on to him, to the bed, to anything that can ground her in this moment as all her plans and anxieties dry up and blow away beyond her reach.  Nothing in this moment can touch her except him, and  _ god _ does he touch her.

She feels so good, so  _ alive,  _ but she doesn't dare ask for more.  More is coming anyway. So instead she tightens her grip on the sheets, tries to focus her eyes on his face.  “ _ York _ …”

“I'm here, I'm here,” he matches the softness of her tone, watching the way her body shakes under his touch, shivers in his sweatshirt, pulls him in over and over again before raising his eyes back to her face. “Let me take care of you, Carolina, my heart's desire, my-- my one and only, my love--” 

Any way the condom might have dulled the sensations, the visual of her so thoroughly wrecked under him and the faint vibrations thrumming through her body more than make up for the loss. York feels like he’s burning, not fever-hot but sunburn warm and so incredibly, achingly tender. If she feels vulnerable like this then he does as well, just as much, from how much it reaches inside of him and sinks its claws into the sentimental parts of him; the parts that want kisses and mornings after, the parts that want to come inside her and have it matter that he does.

“God, Carolina,” he says as if they are one and the same, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Some small part of her wants to stop right here - not because she doesn't want this, but because she wishes she could wrap herself around him and just hold him there forever, deep inside her, beyond the reach of anything but each other.  Safe, happy and in love. “You okay?”

He mumbles agreement as he drops awkwardly onto one elbow for a kiss, multitasking eventually proving to be too much and he drops the toy to grab both sides of her face. “Love you so much, is all,” he manages, lips brushing hers.

Carolina smiles against him, draping her arms around his neck, now that he is lying atop her. “Don’t ever stop.” She places a series of tiny kisses across his mouth, before sucking lightly on his bottom lip. “‘Cause I never will.”

“Never,” he swears, then pushes himself up to get a better angle as he picks up his pace. It's a tricky position, when she's too tired to meet his thrusts half the time, but York is addicted to the feeling of the vibrator, and how Carolina acts under its influence. He sits back on his heels and lifts her good leg more, enough her ankle rests on his shoulder, and presses the vibrator against her clit.

Carolina gasps and twitches below him, reaching out to brace herself against his lower chest.  But as soon as her hand reaches his skin her body spasms again, her fingers tensing to score along his ribs.  She continues to buck against him, panting against her fist that she holds against her mouth, biting hard into one knuckle and mewling weakly with every movement.

“That's it,” he murmurs, moving the vibrator in small, slow circles, counterpoint to his thrusts. “That's the way, just relax, just let me do this for you darling, easy…”

“York…” She chokes on his name, trying to corral him closer to her with her injured leg. “I love-- I love…” She fumbles blindly to find his hand, weaving their fingers together, pressing palm to palm. 

“I know, I promise I know, I'll never forget it, never forget you… oh, Carolina, you look so good like this, do you know that? Can you feel how much you make me want you, like this? Can you tell how much I adore you?” he asks, rubbing his thumb against the side of her hand.

“Yes.”  She's starting to overheat a little in his hoodie, can feel the sweat beading on her skin. York rolls the tip of the vibrator over her clit again and her nerves sear white-hot.  Carolina presses her head back into the pillow, back arching, nearly crushing York's hand in her own.

Carolina can hear the blood pounding in her ears, drowning out anything York is saying, any sounds he is making.  She can't reach him and so she claws at her own chest, but her nails only scratch against his sweatshirt - she feels the pressure but little else. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” York falters, grabbing for her hand, his pace slowing. “You okay? What do you need?”

She doesn't need anything except him, needs him close.  Even as he thrusts into her, it isn't close enough. She wants him in her skin, her bones, her blood.  She wants to heal around him, to make him a part of her. And even then it might not be close enough.

Carolina slides her leg off York's shoulder, sitting up using only her abs to snake an arm around his back and pull him down on top of her.  She refuses to let go of his hand, cushioning his fall with her chest before wrapping both legs around him to drive him against her.

York presses his face into her shoulder, having narrowly missed headbutting her on the way down, and slams their conjoined hands into the mattress as an anchor. He doesn’t want to stop moving, not when he can tell she’s so close, but at this rate she’s going to yank him over the edge first. He smothers a moan loud enough to otherwise be heard down the hall into her shoulder and fumbles with the vibrator. By happy accident he flicks it up one setting, feeling it purr between their conjoined bodies, and he chokes on a gasping inhale.

The effect is immediate - every nerve in Carolina's body is set ablaze, spreading like chain lightning through her spine and in every direction. Her orgasm follows, blooming low in her body and spreading slow creeping tendrils of pleasure throughout, continuing to build even as she seizes around him, even as she shakes, gasping for breath. It keeps going past the point she normally would have gone limp in his arms, and all she can do is cling to him, keening softly in his ear and ride it out.

“Ca-- caro--” his breath keeps sticking in his throat, the stimulation of her orgasm and the vibrator combined toppling him over the edge. At the last moment he remembers that he can’t be heard, so he sinks his teeth into the pillow under her head and howls, a full throated thing as he comes. It’s hard and pleasant, sure, but there’s something about the circumstances that feels bitter as he cries into the mattress, body weakly moving in time with hers.

York wrestles the vibrator out from between them, tosses it to the side, and pulls back to breathe. The hand he’d clutched so tightly is limp; he untangles his fingers and pulls his softening cock out of her. She makes a soft noise. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, voice hoarse and shot. “Gotta clean this up real fast.”

She feels him go, but is too caught up in her still-lingering orgasm to do more than sigh at the loss.  She drifts gently, the sound of water from the bathroom just another pleasant facet to the moment.

He returns as soon as he can, slipping into his now-common spot beside her and molding his body to fit against hers. York kisses her cheek and tries to force himself to relax, just to soak this moment in, but he’s already checking the clock and calculating how long he has until he has to go. Delta’s influence, his insistence on York’s personal responsibility, lingers long after the AI has been unplugged. He smothers a groan into her shoulder.

“You okay?”  Carolina manages to get one hand up, to stroke along his shoulder and down his arm. “You don't sound okay.”  Even just speaking sends a few last little shivers of pleasure through her as the final traces of her orgasm dissipates. 

“D has infected me,” he laments, which out of context is pretty damn high on the list of horrible things to say after sex, so he just scoots a little. His movement rolls the forgotten vibrator into his backside, and York jolts at the contact. Picking it up, he eyes it considerately before turning it off and dropping it down the head of her bed. Fastest way to hide it. “Just worrying. No big deal.”

“What are you worried about?” She leans against him, savoring every point of contact between their bodies,  Carolina continues to graze her fingers over his naked skin, moving from his arm down to his ribs, in long, loving strokes. 

He hums and relaxes into her touch. “I’m starting to forget, actually,” York grins, shifting to get just that bit closer and draw his arm across her stomach. Pillowing his head on his bicep, York plays with a lock of her hair. “You really have such lovely hands. Can bring a man to his knees in every--” he kisses her cheek to punctuate the thought-- “sense-- of-- the-- word.”

Even with as much time as they spend together, he aches for her. Misses her every second they are apart. Having her back even if for a few minutes is soul-soothing, and he melts into post-coital bliss.

“Mmm...I do love seeing you on your knees. And flat on your back. On the sparring mats, on my bedroom floor, in my bed. Especially when I'm straddling you.” Carolina pulls him in close, face to face, but stops short of kissing. Instead she presses their foreheads together and sighs.

“Me too. So get better soon so you can mop the floor with me, okay?” He steals the kiss because it's right there, he can't help it. “By the way, how goes it? What’re those bastards sticking you with now?” he asks playfully, rolling in top of her to crush her into the mattress.

She lets him get comfortable while she tries to pick the safest words to explain.  “Well…” she leans back and closes her eyes so she doesn't have to see his reaction if this goes the way she fears.  “It'll be… interesting. Basically, it's like your healing unit, but industrial strength.” She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “It's going to take all day, because they have to go slow or risk losing range of motion in the joint. And I have to stay the night for observation. So get some rest while you can.”  

“That sounds…” York bites on the inside of his lip. “Was it your idea to do it like this, or theirs?” Not that it matters. She’s self-destructive in her drive to succeed anyway; even if they'd sprung it on her she’d have lept at the chance. 

All the joy from mere seconds ago has bled away entirely, leaving a nauseous sort of dread in its wake. He knows - intimately well - how taxing it is to run his unit for something as simple as performing well despite mild blood loss, but to force a body to heal at that sort of rate?

York presses his mouth to her shoulder like it can keep his worries at bay, tries to calm down and think of anything, anything at all, other than what horrible things could happen to Carolina with this. Having ‘murder’ be an encouraged method of problem solving in his general line of work doesn't help, either.

Carolina clears her throat.  “After they explained the procedure-” and all the possible complications “- I found out I had been  _ volunteered  _ to do it. Probably doesn't matter - six weeks off to heal is impossible. I would have done it anyway.” Better he hear that from her than finding it out from someone else. She has no doubt that as soon as he implants Delta that the AI would immediately be looking for a way to break into her medical files. 

The hand on her hip clutches her closer to his body; clear as day, York visualizes jamming a shotgun to the chin of yesterday’s nurse and watching point-blank pellets tear his skull in half. He groans and closes his eyes tight against it. Too late, he realizes the only other outlet for his emotions is stark terror at the idea of Carolina helpless under dispassionate hands, and he forces his hand to relax before he bruised her.

“You're an idiot, you know that?” His tone is light but paper thin in its frivolity. York bites his tongue and prays he doesn't throw up.

His words sting, and it doesn't help that she privately agrees.  “Would… would it help if you put Delta in?” She doesn't know how to do this any better, but she hates to see his distress.  “Or would that make it worse?” She runs his fingers through his hair. “Do you have any questions? Better you get any info you want than having you imagine the worst.”

“Too late.” He doesn't have to imagine the worst - he’s seen it. “Just-- let me know what I can do to help. Other than being a personal space heater and bringing you absolutely astronomical amounts of food. I know my unit always makes me eat more than I'm used to needing.”

He doesn't need to visualize killing whoever volunteered her for this, either. Mutiny and insubordination are bad enough, but murdering a commanding officer is probably enough to ruin whatever pardon he might otherwise wriggle out of the UNSC should the Project really head morally downwards.

“They have the nutrients worked out at least.” She forces a smile. “I'll get an IV between treatments to replenish what is used from me. Hopefully hunger won't be too bad after?”  No need to tell him that the IV is so she doesn't throw up everything she tries to eat as she rests. On the plus side, the wound from the needle would heal before the next one, so they could use the same arm each time.

But, she still has what might be the worst to tell him.  “Just so you're aware, they have to take any medication I'm on into account.  Fortunately I'm not on anything… except my six-month injection.” She steels herself.  “Someone who is on other kind of medications might go through withdrawal really quickly, as their metabolism burns through it. For me there's the possibility it just will restore my hormones to their normal level. Or nothing will happen at all. They have to do a battery of blood tests before they start anyway - they'll compare my levels before and after, make a call whether I need another injection.  Either way it will be fine. Just… might have another uncomfortable night while it works into my system. But I know I can deal with that. Done it before.”

“Having done it before doesn't make it okay. Carolina…” York wraps his arms around her as if he could shield her from this horror, feeling just as he did when she’d taken Wash and Connie and no one else with her to rescue Maine, and every other heartbreaking hypocritical time she’s used herself as a guinea pig or a meat shield for the rest of them. He keeps his face buried in her neck.

It's not fair for her to keep doing this; to keep choosing to fight battles where he can't follow her, can't help her or protect her and can only sit and wait for her to come home and help put the pieces back together. It's not fair for them to keep asking her to do these things, either, terrifying things that no one should have to do alone. York nuzzles the side of her neck and kisses her there because that's the only thing he can do. His hands are tied in every other sense of the word, and every single second feels like torture.

“Hey. This could save lives.  Six weeks with me out? How many missions could happen in that time?  How many instances where maybe my presence would make a difference? What if a stupid sprained ankle meant that South would never come home? Or Wash, or North or...or you?” She holds him tight against her.  “I hope you don't think I do this lightly. I hope you don't think it's all pride or ego.” 

Carolina sighs heavily. “This is part of what it takes to lead a team, York. I can't look out just for myself. And in this case I didn't have a choice. Literally, the choice was not mine. So I get through it. We get through it. Watch, it probably won't be that bad and we will have made all this fuss for nothing.” She combs her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him, and knows it isn't helping.

“I know.” Logic doesn't help him here. York’s had the personification of logic living inside his head for months and it's done nothing to make him care less deeply for everyone around him. Understanding isn't the problem. “I just wish you weren't. … Promise me you’ll make them stop if it gets to be too much. Promise me that, at least?”  _ Promise me I won't lose you to blind devotion to a cause that may not give a damn if we all die. _

“I promise. But I truly don't believe that will be necessary. For one thing, that doctor from the other day? The redhead? That's Dr. Stronach, and she’s in charge of the procedure.” Carolina lets herself relax a bit, trying to encourage him to do the same with two gentle kisses. “She isn't happy about it at all - she is disgusted that any medical procedure would be forced on someone, soldier or no, and wasn't shy saying so.  But she also said that everything should be just fine - I think I'm in good hands, York.” She brushes her fingers across his neck, stroking along an artery, feeling his heartbeat against her thumb. “Maybe stop by and see if you can find Tricia later? Don't let Delta go digging around in Medical’s files- one of these days he's going to get caught and it won't be him that is disciplined.”

York sighs, conceding defeat. “Tell me when you're going in for treatments? I want to-- to be there. For you.” She’d asked him before how he handled caring so much, how he endured it. He still doesn't know the answer to that.

“I go down at 0900 for the blood work. Then we have to wait for the results - as long as everything looks good, they should start around 1000.” She presses a kiss to his temple before going on. “As I think I said, they have to go slow, keep checking to make sure it is healing evenly, so instead of doing it all at once it'll be broken up into multiple sessions, with breaks for an examination, stretching, and the IV between. It will take hours - the IV alone will take over half an hour each time.  But as the doctor pointed out, there's less stress on my body this way, so it's a good thing.” 

She tightens her arms around him for the next part. “I don't know if they'll let you be there for it, York. You can try, but if we're lucky they might let you pop in for the breaks between. But I'm guessing you'll have to wait until I'm in recovery. I hope I'm wrong, but don't be surprised if that's the way it turns out.”  

“I'll be there,” he promises her; an edge in his voice daring them to try to keep him away and assuring her they would fail. “Even if it's just the hallway outside.”

“You'll still be with me, even if I can't see you.  Don't worry. I'll be thinking of you the entire time.” Carolina wraps her legs around him carefully, not to entice, just to hold him as close to her as absolutely possible.  “I'll be fine, York. Just please be there afterwards, when I get home. Wrap me in your arms and kiss me until we're both breathless. I'll be far more starved for you than for food.”

“Better not be thinking of me the entire time,” he attempts to tease as he sits up enough to look her in the eyes, “otherwise that heart monitor won’t hardly get any rest, will it?”

Without waiting for her reply he kisses her again, trying not to let his agony show. Least thing she needs is to want to comfort him while she’s injured.

“I just hope you have a chance to see mine like I could see yours. God, that is fun,” Carolina says as they finally part. She tucks her head against his and smiles against his cheek.  “I mean, it's not like you try to hide how you feel about me, not when we are together at least. But just to see how much it affects you just to look at me, talk to me, even  _ think _ about me… gotta admit,” Carolina gives him a full bodied hug, arms and legs tightening around him. “...really makes a girl feel appreciated.”

“As you should feel,” he murmurs, kissing his way down her neck. “You’re amazing, in every sense of the word.”

“Good, because you deserve someone amazing - you deserve the best.”  Carolina relaxes into his kisses, content for the moment to forget everything that will come next.  “Guess you managed to be on the right team at the right time.” She lets her nails drag through his hair, over his scalp. “I'm glad you did.”

Feeling his eyelids getting heavy under her attentions, York sneaks a look at the clock. He should be going pretty soon; if it was just his own obligations he’d be tempted to blow them off. But he’s offered to pick up some of her slack as well, at least when it comes down to partnered sparring, and if he’s late he knows Wyoming will give him grief for it.

“Whatever happens,” he whispers into her skin, “I’m glad I met you. And I’m thankful for this. For us.”

York gives her one last kiss, pouring years worth of love and gratitude into it, holding her as close as he can and savoring every second. Then he pulls away and slides out of bed to get dressed, his back to her as his eyes sting.

“Hey.” Carolina props herself up on one elbow.  “This isn't goodbye, York. Just, try your best to think positive? And don't forget Delta.  Did you pull him here?”

“I know, I know, I know,” he mutters, turning his shirt right side out. “Still wish you weren’t hurting.” York snatches Delta’s chip off the nightstand but doesn’t plug him yet. Not sure how Delta would react, and he doesn’t have time for another breakdown. Carolina needs to focus on herself, not on comforting him. When he looks back to her, his eyes are dry. “... Hey. Before I go, do you want me to help you get cleaned up?”

“God yes. I couldn’t think of a way of showering yesterday. Crutches in the shower sounded like a bad idea.” 

Satisfied, he steps into the bathroom to grab the supplies

Carolina watches York disappear into her bathroom and takes the opportunity to sit up.  She pulls off his hoodie - it’s big enough to come off with little effort, and she folds it with a smile, reaching behind her to leave it on her pillow for later.  Carolina sits naked on the bed, hands folded, waiting for him to return.

York comes back with towels and washcloths and gets to work washing her clean; gentle and intimate both, leaving little kisses on her damp skin as he works his way up her legs. Her back, her stomach, her chest and neck are all massaged clean while she’s sitting up, and he saves the slippery mess at her sex for last.

Carolina lays down at his gentle pressure on her shoulder, and is only half surprised when he lowers his mouth between her legs. “You decided you don't have anywhere to go after all?” She stops herself from gripping his hair to pull him closer, but nothing can stop her from getting wetter as he tries to clean her with his tongue. For now, that's his problem, Carolina lays back and sighs, enjoying the moment while it lasts.

“I wish,” he murmurs, breathing in the scent of her.

He tries not to linger too long, not intending to rev her back up again as tempting as it might be, but York laps up the lingering damp on the insides of her thighs before pulling away. 

“Let’s get you dressed, before I change my mind and tell Wyoming I broke a leg and can’t come do pugil sticks with him.”

“Need clothes before I can dress.  Panties top drawer, bras top drawer, shirts second, shorts third.  Don’t bother with socks.” Carolina sits up and watches York cross the room to her dresser, then open a drawer and hesitate.  “Underwear doesn't have to match, just pick anything. And make sure either the shorts or shirt are grey, and then you can pick whatever the hell you want.  The Agent Carolina guide to fashion.” 

“No, it’s just-- I keep forgetting something. It’s fine.”

It takes him another minute to sort everything out to his own satisfaction and return to her on the bed.  He probably didn't go through her entire underwear drawer, but he still managed to find the prettiest bra and panties that she owned, her only properly matched set. And he followed her advice, with a pair of grey shorts and a plain aqua t-shirt that she only ever wore to lounge around in.  “Perfect.”

She puts on the bra herself, just to save time, but York handles her shirt alone, patiently slotting her arms through the sleeves before pulling it over her head.  York places her feet through her panties and shorts as she sits at the edge of the bed, then has her stand while he remains kneeling. She holds onto his shoulders as he pulls them up, one at a time, brushing her fingers over his forehead in thanks once he is done.  York places one last soft kiss between her legs, then embraces her hips, leaning his head against her belly before finally getting to his feet. 

“Before I leave… I want to do one last thing.”

He goes back to her bedside drawer and pulls out a hairbrush and some elastic bands. “Mind if I braid your hair before you go in? Might help to keep it up and… maybe it’s a little bit of me that can be in there with you. Since I couldn’t come inside you, I mean,” he adds to lighten the mood.

“I’d like that.” Carolina smiles and settles herself on the edge of the bed, turning so he can reach her easily.  As he joins her, she reaches blindly back to catch his hand in hers, squeezing it for only a moment before letting go.  She shakes her hair back for him, closes her eyes and holds still.

Behind her, York starts to sing; soft and sweet, a lullaby more than a love song, in a language she doesn’t speak. It’s a wistful sounding tune but it’s warm, low, settling over the back of her neck like a blanket. Smooth sweeps of the brush untangle her hair from their earlier love-making, York careful not to tug on her scalp as he works out a couple snarls. Once it’s tamed, he switches to long strokes in time with his murmured melody, leisurely movements more for the joy of touching her than to accomplish anything.

Deft fingers make practiced plaits in her hair, a gentle french braid soft enough he can drape it over her shoulder when he’s finished, wrapping his arms around her chest and pulling her against him. He rests his chin on her shoulder and sighs, falling silent as he holds her.

Carolina turns her head to rest with her cheek against him.  “It's fine. It's going to be just fine. It'll be over and I'll be back here before you know it. It's just a stupid sprained ankle, York.” She turns further, placing a kiss on the corner of his good eye. “Remember, you still have to come visit me tonight - if you don't take advantage of the chance to talk dirty to me just to watch my heart monitor race, I will be disappointed.”  Another kiss. “Actually, you don't have to say a thing. It'll go berserk the moment you walk in the room.”

He holds her tighter. “I already know how fast your heart's going to get, because it happens to mine, too.” York closes his eyes, pouring all of the love he has for her and more into his embrace. “I’ll be there the whole time. Even if you can’t see me.”

Carolina raises a hand to touch her braid, running her fingers over the weave. “I know, sweetheart. And thank you.”  She gently breaks his grip, turning so she can lean in for one last kiss. “You should get going.” Her eyes flick for only a second to her clock. “Someone will be coming down in a bit to collect me. You have Delta, right? Okay. Pass along my love, just to fuck with his head. Now get going. I'll look forward to seeing you.”

“I will.” He rises and gives her one last look, studying her. “See you tonight, boss,” York says, almost too soft for her to hear, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Carolina doesn't react when the needle goes in, but as the serum is injected it burns like fury.  She tries not to fidget as Dr. Stronach continues to administer it directly into the vein, murmuring comfortingly as she does so. Even if Carolina did struggle, it wouldn't matter - her arms are restrained, and her legs too.  

The doctor seems to notice her discomfort. “Don't worry, Agent. We only want to keep you restrained the first session for your safety. Should you have an unexpected adverse reaction, we would need to keep you still until we can shut things down. As long as everything goes well, we will unstrap you when we hook up the first IV and the rest of the procedure you can do without.  Is anything too tight?”

“No, I'm fine, it's fine.” Carolina forces herself to smile, but it isn't for the doctor’s benefit. She can't bring herself to look over at the observation window.  York shouldn't be there, should be with Wyoming on the sparring floor right now, but she doesn't dare look over to make sure he hasn't called off early. If he has, he would not like seeing this, and she couldn't bear to see his face.  So she watches the doctor re-cap the needle and step away to dispose of the syringe.

“Normally we’d give you a cotton ball and a band-aid over an injection site, but in this case it will be unnecessary.” Dr. Stronach returns to her bedside and starts to arrange a long piece of thin clear tubing, fitting it to a mask.

“Agent York once ran his healing unit on a mission and his injured hands healed so that they stuck to his gloves. He had to cut them off with a knife.” Carolina tries to relax, but the heat of the injection is spreading. “I'd like to avoid anything like that if possible.”

The doctor finishes with her equipment and carefully places the mask over Carolina’s mouth and nose.  “This is just oxygen - your body will be working overtime for healing, and this will help ease a bit of the strain.”  The doctor moves to the end of the bed to inspect Carolina's ankle one last time. Satisfied with what she sees, she picks up a heavy looking silver blanket from a nearby table and drapes it over Carolina's body.  The blanket is warm to the touch, and paired with the injection, she feels almost feverish. 

“This blanket contains wires that will conduct a low voltage electrical current during the procedure - this will stimulate the accelerated healing process.  When we stop to check your ankle, we simply need to remove the blanket to stop it. Are you comfortable?”

“It’s hot.” Carolina can't tell if she is sweating, but she should be.  If she is, it is offering no relief.

The doctor gives her a sympathetic smile. “Only a moment longer and that will change, don't worry.”  Dr. Stronach checks the dial for the oxygen, adjusts the blanket to make sure it is covering her completely.  “Are you ready?”

Carolina nods and the doctor flips a switch where the blanket is plugged into the wall.

In Carolina’s arteries and veins, her blood flushes cold, making her gasp.  The doctor comes back around to the side of her bed. “You okay, Agent?”

Carolina nods.  “Yeah. Not- not hot anymore.” The heat from the blanket is welcome now, and after the initial shock of the cold, she feels a lot more comfortable.  She takes a deep breath to relax. 

“Half an hour for the first session, then an hour break for IV, assessment and stretching if necessary. You can nap if you wish.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”  Carolina still cannot bring herself to check at the window, and gratefully closes her eyes.

Outside, for all the world a picture of calm focus as he taps on a tablet, York watches the procedure through the viewing window with sharp eyes. Carolina’s heart monitor is fast and likely matches his; self control is the only thing keeping him still other than the rapid bounce of his leg. 

This is helping her. It's not much different than what he goes through on a mission with his healing unit. If anything goes wrong, he’s right here. All of these are truths played to him on a loop by Delta (who has done extensive background checks on all of the staff involved, abusing their lingering admin privileges no doubt and nearly setting off several alarms while doing so) as he watches her heartbeat start to calm.

“I wasn't aware you were free this afternoon, Agent York.” The voice is low, accent curling like smoke and obscuring the man’s intentions. York sits upright in his chair by instinct, but doesn't rise or turn.

“Sir. Agent Wyoming claimed an issue with the scheduling and opted to hit up the target range instead.”

“Is that so? How lucky you must feel, to be able to be here instead.” The Director lays his hand on York’s left shoulder.

“I have the healing unit,” York says, the cold influence of Delta keeping his arguments solid and his tone steady. “I figured I might as well be nearby should something go wrong. My experiences may provide insight.”

Cold fingers trace the AI port, across the detailed metal and along the smooth scar tissues surrounding it. York goes rigid. “And Delta would be helpful as well.”

He can’t breathe enough to speak.

“I suppose, then, that my presence down here is not needed. Since you have such a handle on this situation.” 

The hand retracts. York lets out a breath that comes with a hint of a shudder, then rallies.

“There's a second chair. But I would guess you’re recording all of this anyway, aren't you?” Some of the fire slips through his voice then, burning through Delta’s ice. York turns to see the Director's face at last.

The lights from the operating room white out his eyes from behind his glasses, but what York can see of his mouth looks almost sad. The rest of York’s words die in his mouth.

Just as soon, the moment is gone. 

“I am.” the Director says. “Science must progress on, if we are to live. Each sacrifice now may prevent ten further down the line.”

The ends justify the means, then. York looks to Carolina, her eyes screwed shut and sweat beading on her brow. Back to the Director, with his face like stone.

“Would you have come,” the Director asks, “if it had been any other teammate?”

“Would you have used this on anyone else?” York fires back.

The Director gives him a sharp stare.

“Sir?” he adds, too little too late.

“I would do anything for the Project,” the Director says, low and deliberate. “So would she.”

York drops his gaze and stares at the tablet, numbers and letters fading to senseless shapes on the screen. Delta steps in, manipulating the data under his fingers so that he appears to be working. The silence stretches on, thin and excruciating, until Carolina’s first break. Then footsteps and the distinct hiss of the door sliding shut as the Director leaves.

York is alone again, and he watches Carolina with a blank expression.

Carolina sighs with relief as the blanket is removed and a nurse stops to release her restraints. She massages her wrists, sits up straighter to stretch her back and without thinking, turns to look out the window.  

There is a figure sitting there, half-obscured by glare off the glass, but she knows it is York. Her heart sinks, wondering how long he's been there and how much he has seen.

She smiles at him anyway, realizing too late that he probably can't see under her mask. He raises one hand in a wave.  She waves back, and somewhere behind her a steady pulse of beeping begins to speed up. “Son of a….”

Carolina turns away just as another nurse walks in to hang an IV bag next to her shoulder.  Dr. Stronach bends over at the end of the bed to inspect the injury and the heat slowly seems to rise again under Carolina’s skin.  She leans back again as the nurse begins to swab her arm, closes her eyes. Only four more hours to go.

Around hour seven, a nurse comes out to the viewing room - the same one who has worked so much with him after his brain injury. “Glad to see you again, Agent, and in one piece for once. Surprised you’re still here.”

“It's the strangest thing, Tricia,” York replies, eyes still on the glass. “The jogging track had to be resurfaced today. Seems they forgot about it until last night.”

“How strange.”

“Mm-hmm.”

This time, when a hand lands on his shoulder, it's on his right side. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asks.

“That’d be lovely.”

She vanishes again, and York returns to his work. Really, Delta has done all of it and then some, working not only on some backlogged reports but setting up the team training schedule for the next week as well as drafts for three more after that. He’s kept his calculations of possible complications from this procedure to himself and only admitted to the solutions he’d devised for the less serious ones. His draft for a biotic leg is his current project, as York helps him sketch improvements over the industry standard model.

( _ “Fusing the titanium directly to the bone will offer the most support.” _ “It’ll hurt like hell in the cold, even if you grow tissue over it, won’t it?” _ “Potentially, but that is a lesser concern than a prosthetic becoming loose in a combat situation.” _ )

Tricia returns with two cups of coffee, York takes the first gratefully, taking a careful sip.

( _ “No toxins.” _ )

Another, deeper drink. “How long do we have left?”

“About an hour. Shouldn't you at least go to get food?”

He cracks a grin and raises his cup. “Isn't this food?”

“Calories, maybe. Not nutrients. Do I need to put on my bossy voice?”

“That only works coming from her.”

Tricia goes quiet and adds, in a softer voice, “taking care of someone means taking care of yourself so you can be there for them, you know.”

York rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. That's what I'm trying to do.”

She slips away again, this time for a little longer, and comes back with a slightly stale bagel. “This is not a meal,” she instructs him, gesturing angrily with it even as he reaches to accept it. “You have to get dinner after this. I will know if you don’t.”

“Okay, fine,  _ Mom _ .” York finally meets her eyes and matches her eventual smile. Just as soon, though, his eyes are back on the glass and Tricia leaves him to be alone.

 

* * *

 

Carolina wakes up slowly.  

The procedure that was supposed to take under five hours went for nearly eight, and even with the added breaks, she was exhausted.  Is exhausted - she had dozed off almost as soon as she was rolled into Recovery, and she had no idea how long ago that was, but it wasn't enough.

She tries to reach down and rearrange the blanket - now that the serum has worn off, she’s covered in goose bumps - but her hand won't move.  Carolina opens her eyes.

York is seated in a chair next to her bed, one hand cupped protectively over hers. As soon as he sees she is awake, he leans forward to take her hand in both of his.

“Hi there, Carolina,” he says, warmly, each syllable slow and deliberate. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mmm. Okay. Glad to see you. Not through a window.”  She would willingly break both ankles, right now, right here, for just a single kiss. But she sees out of focus shapes of doctors and nurses passing by the windows- kisses aren't going to happen. 

“They’ll need to ask you a couple last things, then I can take you home. Back to your room,” he corrects himself, exhaling on her fingers to warm them further. “Want me to call the nurse over?” 

“Please.” Carolina takes a deep breath, giving her head a shake to clear out the cobwebs. “York, what time is it?” She doesn't want to let go of his hands, but she needs to sit up, wake up a bit if she has to talk with someone official.

“0630 hours.” York slips an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up, ignoring how she goes rigid halfway up.

“What? I've been asleep for almost  _ twelve hours?”  _

York keeps one hand on her back, moving in soothing circles. “Sort of. They woke you up a few times - asked you some questions, gave you some food.  You answered lucidly enough. I take it you don't remember?” York grins widely. “Some of our most  _ enlightening _ conversations have taken place at about 0300.  Usually right after you elbowed me awake to ask about beer and snakes or similar.” The hand on her back doesn't falter but York’s voice drops lower. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.  Just really tired.”   God, she feels like she could sleep another twelve hours straight. “Wanna go get the nurse?” 

“Sure thing.” York gives her hand one more squeeze. “Be right back.”

In the end, it took about half an hour. The nurse found Dr. Stronach, who came in to once again point, flex and roll Carolina’s foot. York stayed outside while she got Carolina on her feet to test for pain (there was none) and had her walk across the room and back.  She reviewed her file one last time, checking her vitals and comparing to her pre-procedure baseline. 

“Everything looks good. I know things took longer than we had anticipated, but we are still learning to fine tune this technology.” Dr. Stronach eyes Carolina from head to foot.  “That said, I'm pleased with the results. There have been no additional complications, the tiredness is to be expected, and you have managed to keep down solid food. I don't see any reason to keep you here when you're doing well and I know you will be more comfortable in your own room, so I am releasing you to your quarters.” The doctor pauses here, backs herself into the hall and makes a jerking motion with her head.  She walks back to Carolina's bedside and York follows her in at a trot.

“As I said,” the doctor continues, “I'm willing to release you to your quarters, but here are the rules.  One, rest. Get home, go back to sleep. If you can't sleep, stay in bed and read, watch a movie, listen to music, just give yourself a chance to recharge. A nurse will be in at,” she pauses to look at her watch, “1100, to do a quick check up. As long as everything is clear, you are free to move about.  Two, once cleared I want you to go for a walk. Stretch your legs. If you feel any pain, or any tightness in that ankle, I want you back here immediately. Otherwise someone will visit at 1800 for another check up.” Dr. Stronach moves her gaze from Carolina to York and back. “Sound acceptable?”

“Sounds fine.” Carolina tries to keep from sounding peevish, but she's willing to agree to almost anything if it means she can get back to sleep. The doctor raises an eyebrow and looks over at York.

“I will tie her down on the bed if that’s what it takes,” he offers with a lazy salute.

Carolina is absurdly grateful to already be off the heart monitor, but throws York a dirty look anyway.  “Not necessary, I'll be asleep as soon as I'm in the door.” 

Dr. Stronach smiles and lowers her tablet. “Then you're free to go. Wheelchair in the corner,” she adds to York. “I will see you tomorrow for another check up, and if everything looks good, you could be cleared for full return to your duties. Have a good day, agents.”  Dr. Stronach nods to them, leaves the room.

York gets up and groans, stretching out cramped and aching joints as he moves for the first time in hours. He probably puts a bit too much weight on the chair as he wheels it over, but he’s not had much sleep tonight. “Need a hand getting in?”

“I think I can manage,” Carolina answers, tartly.  As she lowers herself into the chair, she softens her tone to add, “Thanks, York. You should have gone home and gotten some rest but… I'm glad you were here.”

“Glad to be here,” he says. “I was making a nuisance of myself, as you can imagine.”

“I'm surprised they didn't put you in traction just to get you out of the way. You probably would have enjoyed it too much - since you seem to be into bondage.”

York lets that one slide and wheels her out and down the hallway. At this hour, there’s not a lot of activity; most everyone is at breakfast or (if they can) still sleeping. York is tired too, but can’t help talking to her in a low voice as he wheels her along.

“Sometimes I wonder what growin’ old with you would be like,” he starts, leaning heavily on the handles. “And I kind of think it’d be like this. If your legs go before mine, and my eyes before yours, I could see us fumbling around a grocery store. You trying to tell me to take a left and me insisting it should be a right. Bossy as ever. Supporting each other like always.”

He’d miss her face so badly if he went blind, but… “I’d be in good hands, I think, if I lost the other one. Eye, I mean.” 

She sits in silence for a moment, soaking it in. This is beyond plans - this is a gateway into a whole different universe and she's terrified to even peek in. “Well, keep telling doctors you'll tie me to the bed, and you won't have a chance to grow old.”  There's a beat of silence, then- “You know I would take care of you. If your…” her throat tightens, and she strikes back out for familiar waters again. “Speaking of bed, how long do you have? Before you have to go?”

“Long enough to get you to sleep,” he answers, cryptically. He types in her code on the door and stifles a yawn. “Here we are.”

The bed has been freshly made, nest altered for maximum comfort and accessibility even if it doesn't look made for two people. On the table there's a bottle of water and a little bag of dried fruit, and a small sleeve of crackers along with a new book.

“It's a poor consolation prize for me staying in bed with you this whole time, but I am a little bit on everyone's shit list for blowing them off, soooooo…” York yawns, again, and tries to shake himself awake before he scoops Carolina up out of her chair and falls into bed on top of her. 

“Somehow, I'm not feeling quite so sleepy all of a sudden “ It's a complete lie, but at least it has the virtue of being an obvious one, from the way she mumbles the words, to the way her hands stall in the middle of stroking his hair, to the way her happy sigh switches into a yawn halfway through.  

“Oh, good, give me some of your energy then,” and he snuggles closer to her, dropping a flurry of kisses across her cheeks, completely covering her with his body. “Give it to me, baby.”

“Come and get it.”  She's so tired, so goddamn bone tired, but he's warm and sweet and she wants nothing more that to just soak him in for hours.  

He kisses her on the mouth, cupping her jaw with both hands and pouring himself into it, so glad to have her back and safe and refusing to consider anything else. So into the kiss he forgets to breathe, and after several seconds has to pull away with a gasp.

“So,” he says, resting his forehead against hers. “I got you food. Clean sheets. Water. A book. Is there anything else you need before I head out for a few hours?”

“Just sleep.” Carolina drapes her arms around the back of his neck. “And maybe another blanket. I haven't felt properly warm since they wheeled me into Recovery.  I even dreamed about being cold. You're making me a little hot right now,” she places a gentle kiss on his lips, “but still.”

“I will get you,” he can’t keep his mouth off hers, not after hours of fear that she might never wake up, “eight solid inches-- of heated blankets. Only the best for the best.”

She can't help but laugh at that one, at seeing him relaxed and happy.  They got through to the other side, like she said they would. Everything was fine. “I will take every inch you give me. And love every bit of it.” 

He ducks down to mouth along her neck, too tired to really get hard but so honestly desperate to feel her all over, know that she really is okay. The temptation to mark her up weighs on his mind, but she still has more medical exams after this. Later. So many, many things for later.

“I’ll be back around lunch. You be good while I'm gone, and message me if you need anything, okay?” One last kiss on her mouth and he holds himself up over her, drinking her in. “God, I love you so much.”

“Love you too.”  It comes out as a whisper - it’s all she's got left.  She keeps her eyes on him until they close of their own accord. “Blankets. Then get going.”

“Not your sweatshirt?” he teases.

That opens her eyes.  “Actually that sou -- oh, wait. That might be a bit of a giveaway if the nurse gets here before I wake up. Do you think?”  

“In general, no, I don't make a habit of thinking.” he teases, but she's right. God, he wishes it didn't matter; wishes they could tell everyone they were together and in love and fuck anyone who tries to stop them. 

But that train of thought leads him back to his conversation with the Director. Reality is a bitter pill, and he’d found himself painting a picture of a life with her because he’s even less sure that it will happen. It has always seemed far-fetched before, but after today…

“I'll grab it for you just in case, but you're right. Better not risk it.” York gets up and starts to pile blankets on her, layers and layers, and flops on top of them for one more kiss. “Need more?” 

“I always want more of you.” Carolina manages to extract one hand from the blankets to touch his cheek. “But blankets - think this might be good for now.  Oh, the sweatshirt? Turn it inside out for me?” 

He rolls off her with a groan of effort and retrieves the sweatshirt, complying.

“I'll be back in a couple hours. Probably bruised to hell and back since I'm taking on the two girls in hand to hand and at least one of them currently hates my guts.” 

“Uh oh… who did you piss off?” Carolina accepts the sweatshirt, cuddling it as she curls her body around it. She presses her face to the fabric and breathes deep.  

“South, for sure. But really she’d beat me down even if we were on the best terms possible.” He hopes he’s hiding the ache he feels as he watches Carolina snuggle down into the bed; wishing he could be there with her, and sick with the knowledge that no matter what she chose if he asked her to leave the Project with him, it would break her heart.

“I'll avenge you. Later.”  This yawn nearly unhinges Carolina's jaw. “Go. Before I don't let you.”  She closes her eyes, nestling her face into his sweatshirt. “Love you. Go.”

“Love you too. See you later.”

 

* * *

 

It's not a sprain, but York’s left shoulder is aching by the time he heads to Carolina’s room with two trays of food. He’s going to borrow one of her ice packs and it's absolutely going to bruise but he totally deserved it, not seeing Connie there until she was slamming her heel into him. He grits his teeth as he balances the trays on one arm, typing in her door code with the other, and slipping inside to see her fast asleep.

“Caaaaaarolina,” he says in a low sing song. “Wake up. I brought food.”  

“Mmmff.”  Carolina cracks an eye. “Delicious.” She clears her throat and rolls onto her back. “Food looks good too.”

“If I’d known you were thirsty I’d have brought you more water,” he plays back, setting the trays onto the bedside table and yanking the blankets back in a sharp movement, smothering her yelp with a kiss. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.”

Carolina shivers in the blast of cold air, nips his lip in retaliation.  “Asshole. Why the hell do I love you so much?” She grabs him by the front of the shirt, forcing him down to the bed, on top of her.  “Least you can do is keep me warm now.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, nuzzling her anyway, “dessert before your dinner will spoil your appetite. C’mon. Eat.”

“Okay, okay.”  Carolina lets him get up, and even pulls herself up to sit cross-legged on the bed. She carefully accepts a tray from York, balances it across her knees, and tucks in. 

Once started, she eats voraciously, with far more appetite than she expected.  She mows through everything on her tray - green beans, a sausage that she only had the patience to tease York with once, running her tongue over the top before biting it clean in half.  

She's wiping her tray clean with a surprisingly soft bun before she finally gets around to talking. “Thanks, York. For lunch. For checking in on me. For being here through all this. For being here, period.”  Carolina finishes off the roll, brushing her hands clean of crumbs over her tray, then sets it back on the bedside table. She digs around in the sheets for the sweatshirt and starts turning it right-side out.

“Thanks for letting me hover. It’s nice to be allowed to help in whatever way I can. I know stuff like that can be hard to accept, so… thanks for letting me fuss.” York wants to savor every second, but time is moving too fast. Her braid has gone to frizz and she has to need a real shower, but he can't take his eyes off her, can’t help wanting her so badly it hurts. 

One hand comes up to press his palm against the back of his neck, where Delta lays dormant from his hand to hand with the girls, as if he can block out the doubt spreading through him like a virus, eroding his smile. York conceals it with another bite of food, then offers his bread to Carolina.

“Still hungry?”

“Yeah.” Carolina gratefully accepts the bun, her fingers lingering as they touch his. “I was starving. I'm still supposed to go stretch my legs, go for a walk at some point. I'll probably scrounge up something more at the mess when I do.”  

“Whatever you want,” he coaxes, putting his last pieces of sausage on her plate. All the food he’d brought her earlier was gone, too. He might catch flack from Delta later if this messes with his blood sugar or recommended caloric intake, but his appetite has faded this afternoon. He yawns again. “I’d go with you, but Niner complained I was hogging you.”

“Not ready to go yet - god, I have to take a proper shower before a time we sees me. I feel pretty gross.”  Carolina reaches over to snag one of the pieces of sausage, popping it in her mouth and sucking her fingers clean.  She gives him a sidewise glance. “You okay, York? You seem a bit… off. Is it a Delta thing? Or is something wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he evades, letting a dreamy smile twist his lips even as affection wrenches his heart like a vise. “Just a little tired. D’s tired too.”

Setting his tray aside, York eases himself down on his side next to her, propping his head up with one arm, the other stroking the top of her knee in controlled movements that don't jostle his shoulder. “If you want sex tonight, you might have to do most of the work. Unless I just go down on you until you can’t think straight. That I can do lying down.”

“We’ll have to see how we are both feeling. If I have the energy, I would love to… take care of…” Carolina stalls out, eyes widening and face going pale.

“Carolina?” York sits bolt upright. “What's wrong? Should I call the doctor?” Delta’s already waking up, jarred from sleep by the flash of panic that lights up York’s brain with adrenaline.

“No, I just…  _ shit _ , York… I nearly forgot.”  One hand comes up to cover her mouth and she takes a deep breath, staring down at the bed. “Birth control. The shot? Remember? I have no idea if they checked my levels.  I don't remember them taking blood at all after the procedure, but I was  _ exhausted.  _  They could have cut off one of my arms, I probably wouldn't have noticed or cared.”  

Carolina looks up at him, finally. “Did you notice if they did? While you were there?”

“Well, they certainly didn't cut off your arm,” he stalls, trying to make the connection. “They took a bit of blood but-- what levels?"

“The six month shot York. They just did something that wrecked havoc with my body’s metabolism.  We might have talked about this before.” Carolina scrubs her fingers through her hair, only for them to get tangled in the remains of her braid. “The doctor told me that it was lucky I wasn't on any medication currently, because apparently your body burns it off really fast, and you go through withdrawal. But she knew about the shot, wasn't sure what the effect would be, so they were going to check my levels before and after.”

“I might not be… protected… right now. Fuck, if all of that is burned out of my system, if I've just been through eight hours worth of healing, for all I know, I might be max fertility. Holy shit.” Carolina swallows hard, tries to keep her breathing under control. “And I nearly  _ forgot _ .”

York grips the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white, jaw locked and every inch of his body rigid. He swallows. “I see,” he murmurs, voice rough but he will not move, he refuses to move, if he moves he’s going to slam her into the bed and fuck her and that cannot happen, he will not let that happen no matter how badly his body and his instincts want that right now.

“So, uh,” he starts, completely failing to sound or look casual, “cold shower time?”

“Oh my god. Not even just that.” Carolina barely even hears him, her eyes going even wider. “That morning, we used a condom. I didn't want a mess or have anything be too obvious when I'm being examined top to toe by a doctor. But -” she feels dizzy with the realization, “if we hadn’t, York…”

“Smart thinking. Glad we did, then,” he says, and he should be happy to have dodged that tragedy. If they’d try to run now, there’s no place for them to go, too deep in dead space and with not a single thread of any plan in place. It’d be a death sentence and the sure end of their relationship. He should be happy they thought about this in time.

He should be.

Scooting forward, York unties her braid and starts to detangle her hair, tries to hide the way his hands shake. “Important thing is, we didn’t. You’re safe. We’re clear.”

“I mean, we don't - we don't even know.” Carolina’s brain feels like it's short circulating, hitting her with about a hundred thoughts at light speed. “Could be that everything is - I mean, the levels could be --” She drops her head into her hands, accidentally catching York's fingers in a knot at the back of her head.  “Sorry.” She lifts her head back up for him, tries to pull herself together. They're okay. Nothing happened. And yet -- 

Carolina's voice comes out flat, barely a whisper. “Does it make me a terrible person if part of me… just for a moment…”  She can't finish the thought, not out loud, not even in the safety of her own head.

York shifts so he’s in front of her, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. “Oh, Carolina, if you do then it makes you like  _ me _ ,” and he rubs a thumb at her cheek, where a tear is threatening to fall. “But it's better this way. Better to wait, to when we’re our own people again; better nothing than to be tools, or weapons, or-- or livestock to be bred and raised for slaughter.” 

The words are out too late for him to stop them, but his next question Delta clamps down.

_ (“You cannot ask her that.”) _

He blinks. (“Why not?”)

(“ _ Classified. If you ask her now, it might break her. Do not ask _ .”)

York swallows the question down and presses a kiss to Carolina’s forehead instead. “It hurts. It hurts so goddamn much, but it's better this way.”

She leans against him, grateful to feel him warm and solid as she mentally gets her feet back under her. “I’ll call Dr. Stronach, see if I can ask a few questions as discreetly as possible.” Carolina brings one hand up to cup York’s face, brushing her fingers tenderly over his jaw. “You okay?”

“Incredible,” he marvels, nuzzling her wrist. “ _ You’re _ the one who got injured and went through some highly experimental treatment that might have fucked up your body in new and exciting ways, and you’re asking  _ me _ if I'm okay?” He kisses her because it's easier than thinking anymore. “Geez. You’re really wiped, huh? Do you need to go back to sleep?”

Carolina shakes her head. “Right now I just want to make the call, then I'll go for that walk. I don't feel like eating anymore, but I should grab something anyway.”  She does want to sleep, but doesn't want to face what dreams may come. “Want me to drop you a message if I find anything out? Or just wait until I see you tonight?” She stops to look at him directly. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Send the message. D can field it if I'm busy. And you’ll wake up to me, for sure, but don't wait up too late. Let me fix your hair, okay? It's all halfway and tangly.” He scoots behind her again and resumes brushing, as gentle as ever.

They sit in silence, Carolina allowing her mind to drift as York works the brush through her hair.  The room is still, there are no footsteps in the hall - it feels like the ship itself is holding its breath.  In this moment there is just the two of them quietly clinging to each other, and the rest of the universe can wait.

“Hey,” York whispers, pausing the brush. “... do you need to cry this one out? Just a little?”

“...later. Maybe later.” She leans back against him. “So much to do today still and if I…”  Her throat tightens, and she struggles to relax, to finish her sentence. Her shoulders start to shake, and her head drops forward.

“C’mere, Lina bean,” and York wraps his arms around her, falling back and to the side so that they’re spooning, legs tangled awkwardly together. “I got you. It's okay. We still got time. Tons of time. Shhhhh.” 

He kisses the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her and feeling his eyes sting.

“I’ve got you. Promise.”

She doesn't break. She doesn't sob.  But lying in his arms, the tears roll out of her effortlessly, soaking into his sweatshirt that ends up lying beneath her.  She runs her hand over his arm, trying to offer similar comfort. 

Eventually Carolina shifts, squirms so that York reluctantly loosens his grip enough for her to roll over to face him.  

He seems calm, but his face is as wet as hers is. Carolina feels her heart melt, and she pulls him closer, pressing her lips inch by inch over his cheeks to kiss his tears away. From time to time she pauses, pressing their foreheads together as a new wave of emotion hits. 

“There’s still time,” he says, and prays it's true, even as he feels it spooling out behind them like a grappling hook and he’s waiting for the yank, “you’re gonna be okay.”

“ _ We _ will--” Carolina’s voice cracks, but her next try comes out stronger. “ _ We  _ will be okay.” Her hand comes up to curl over his port, their familiar gesture of support and love. She leans in to kiss him, warm and comforting. “I love you. No matter what happens - That doesn't change.”

York rolls them over, deepening the kiss as though his life depended on it. “How do you do it,” he breathes, pulling away and watching their tears rolling down her cheeks in earnest. She couldn't have seen what the Director did in the observation room, no way she could know what he said. “How are you so-- incredible?”

“I was born naturally awesome.” The next kiss warms what parts of her were still cold and terrified. Carolina pulls him in hungrily for more, finding comfort in intimacy.

He laughs through his tears, between kisses, as he lays on top of her as though somehow he can protect her from the world with his body. She starts to move under him, shifting her legs to settle him between her thighs, fit their bodies together like they have a hundred times before and York tries to ignore how it’s turning him on. Now is not the time for sex. He won't let it be. Not when it's so dangerous.

“Carolina,” he murmurs, completely failing at sounding responsible and in control. “Might need that shower soon.”

She sighs. “Yeah, me too.” Carolina doesn't stop kissing though, but does keep them shorter, less heated. “It might be a little while before we can have sex again, you realize that? You going to be okay with that?”

“I’ll manage. I just want you to feel… safe,” he finishes, not entirely satisfied with his choice of words. “And I know your shots hurt so I could maybe bring some booze over. We can get drunk and I’ll… fuck, I can’t even say something like ‘I’ll put a padlock on my pants belt’ because I could pick that shit even black out drunk.” York rolls off her with a dramatic sigh. “Why am I so good at my job?”

“Well...I think we can still find ways to keep ourselves occupied.” Carolina turns to cuddle against his side. “I mean, you can't knock me up if your cock is in my mouth. And we haven't sixty-nined before - just saying. We have options.” Carolina trails her fingers over York’s lips. “Silver lining - at least we can try some new things.”

York’s heart does a couple backflips in his chest. “True. Pity it’s on short notice. I’d been meaning to--” he stops himself, suddenly uncomfortable. She’d reacted poorly to his mention of a past male partner before, better not to bring up anything now. “... Anyway. We can make plans later. Now is the time for you,” he taps her nose, “to shower and for me to go back to hitting things.”

Carolina gives him a searching look. “Something been on your mind, York?  You've been meaning to...what?” She leans in to nibble along his ear. “You can tell me. If there is anything you want…”

“You-- you know I’m bi,” he says, feeling his face grow hot and Delta withdraw completely to give him space. “So there’s things I...” York squirms and opts to say it all in one go and damn the consequences. “I don’t know, sometimes I wish you could shove my face into the mattress and fuck me, but I don’t have a strap-on you could use. And I don’t know how fun that’d even be for you, and it’s-- guys aren’t supposed to-- ugh. Never mind. Forget I brought it up.”

Carolina sits quietly a moment, letting this sink in.  Then she lowers her head to his shoulder, trailing her fingers down his chest.  

“We can talk about that,” she says coolly. “There is a lot I would need to know first. Such as whether you would want me to push you down on the bed and fuck you,” Carolina eases herself on top of him, sliding between his legs, lifting his thighs. “Or do I take you like this, on your back, so I get to see your face as I wreck you?”  Carolina lowers her head to nuzzle him through his pants, raising her eyes to meet his. “You have time to think it over. No rush.”

His hips jerk under her attentions and York sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh,” he says, one hand trailing shaking fingers along the side of her face as the other grabs a handful of his own hair and yanks. “Oh shit, oh shit oh shit shit shit,” he chants, squirming again but for an entirely different reason this time. “You really-- you’d  _ do  _ that? God,” and he peers down at her again, “you  _ would _ . And you’d  _ like  _ it.  _ Fuck _ .”

“Yes, I'd like it.” Carolina pushes his thighs up and apart again, rolling her hips against him. “But I would  _ make sure  _ that you like it even more.” as she moves against him again with a little more force this time. “And that really says something because I am going to like it  _ a lot _ .”

Breath hitching in his chest, York goes pliant, letting her thrusts jolt him on the bed. “Touch me, god, touch me please, it’s--” the visual, the mimicry of the sensations with none of the payoff is blissful agony, and he is helpless to it. “Shit, shit shit shit, Carolina, you’re not being  _ fair _ .”

“You want me to touch you, York?” Carolina grasps the waist of his sweatpants with one hand, her other hand stroking his cock through the layers of fabric. “Like this?”

“Yesssss,” he keens, eyes fluttering closed. “God, please, yes.”

“I love you like this, York.” Carolina puts a bit more pressure into the motion as she palms him, then drags her fingers down the side of his cock.  “I love you under me. I love you wrecked and begging. And I love the sounds you make when I give you what you ask for.”

He closes his eyes, whole body rolling to follow the motion of her hand. “Me too,” he manages. “Love you. And this. Missed this. Shit. God, want you so badly.” York reaches for her, intent on kisses, all thoughts of restraint out the window.

Carolina allows him to draw her up, taking the opportunity to straddle him.  Halfway through the first kiss, she buries her hands into his hair, gripping it between her fingers to hold him down as she begins to grind.  “I can't tell you how badly I want you inside me.” She trails kisses down York's neck. “It’s killing me not to have you, to ride you, to milk your come out of you.”  Carolina drags her mouth down to the base of his throat, applies her teeth just enough to leave imprints in his skin. “I'm already so wet for you.”

The noise he makes is nothing short of broken and he clings to her, rocking in time with her and moving her along his trapped length. He has to look a sight, panting hard and eyes hazy, but he honestly could not give two shits. “Yes, yes, I want that too, love-- love how you’re so tight and slick around me, love feel--  _ ahhhh _ , love feeling you try to pull me deeper or how you-- how-- oh god, oh shit, oh,” and his words fizzle out as Carolina sucks hard against his collarbone.

“Mmm. That's what I love, the sound of you absolutely wrecked.”  Carolina increases the pressure of her body against his, trying to ignore the ways that it feels good for her. Right now she just wants to focus on his reactions to every roll, every brush of her body against his cock.

“Did I ever tell you what Delta gave me, York?” Carolina dips her head to his ear, nipping at his lobe before continuing. “Feels so long ago now, but months back, after one particular night you and I spent together, he sent me a recording of you.  It's  _ gorgeous _ \- you're moaning, and screaming and so far gone as I fucked you senseless.”  She slows the movement of her hips, just so she can move her hand below, to feel him hard and twitching again at her. “Do you know how many times I've listened to that now, York? Do you know how many times I've moaned your name as I orgasmed, listening to you alone in my room?” Carolina dips in for a long wet kiss that ends with a smoldering look. “So many times, York.”

“F-fuck,” he laments, “I don't know if I should kill him or thank him. That you-- you’ve got a little piece of m-me for your leisure is--”

“--so fucking hot. That's what it is.” Carolina crushes her mouth to his. “If I could capture every sound you make - every moan, every choked sigh, every time you say my name like I'm a fucking  _ goddess _ \- I would keep every one, and never get tired of them.  Luckily,” she adds, resuming stroking with her hand, to better feel him responsive beneath her, “You are mine. And I can touch you, fuck you, and coax all your beautiful sounds out of you whenever I want. Listen to you babble as you fall to pieces. I love it. I love you so much.” Carolina lowers her head to his shoulder, nipping him hard. “Say my name, York.”

“Carolina--”

“Again, York. Say it again.”

“Carolina--”

“Again. Tell me you love me.”  

“I do, I love you so much,” and he balls the sheets in his fists as he bucks under her, “Carolina, Carolina, Carolina, I love you, I love this, god, please, don't stop don't stop don’t stop--”

“Tell me how you feel, York. Tell me how good it is.”  Carolina strokes along him in long, steady motions, then lowers her mouth to lick at a chosen spot on his chest before etching a tooth along the skin.

He shudders at the feel of her mouth on him. “So good, it feels-- I love being under you, I love it when you-- you boss me around because I’m yours, yours to do with as you want and I love it, please-- please--” She bites him again and he wails, clutching her thighs and trying to pull her closer to him. “Please, bite me, scratch me, cut me, use me, I’m yours, so yours, only ever yours and I need you so badly--”

“You are mine. Your body is mine. And I want your blood.”  Carolina leans down to lick his skin again. “And I'm gonna take it.”  Another slow, wide lick. “Tell me you want it, York. Beg me to drink you in. To take you inside of me.”

“I do, I want it so bad, I want to be in you, I want-- I want you to taste me, know how much I want you, taste how my heart beats in time with yours--” Her teasing strokes are wearing at him, edging him and he’s nowhere near energetic enough to last. “Please, Carolina, for the love of god, _fuck_ _me_.”

“No.” She raises her head until her lips are brushing his. “You don't get to come. Not yet. Not until I have everything I want from you.”

“Take it, then, anything you want.” He nuzzles her mouth, shaking hands coming up to hold her face. “I trust you.”

“I know you do.” The next kiss is soft, and she hopes it doesn't mar her dominant act for him, but seeing him so willing underneath her, so trusting, melts her heart.

She has an idea, pulls her gaze away from him, reaches over to pull out her bedside drawer. She fumbles blindly, fingers searching until they finally close around a familiar shape. She pulls the knife from her drawer, unsheathes it, and examines the blade. “You did ask me to cut you. Still okay with that, York?”

His heart is beating so fast he nearly feels dizzy. “God, please, yes. Yes. Do it.”

“All right.”  Carolina is glad that she unfailingly keeps all of her blades razor sharp. She is still working through her feelings on this, so she acts quickly, before she can get weighed down with doubt.  

She touches the tip to his chest, a few inches below his left collarbone.  Her hands are steady, the blade is as sharp and precise as a scalpel. She keeps the cut small, barely half an inch long, and pulls away as soon as York takes in a shuddering breath.

Carolina holds still a moment, making sure he is okay before she reaches over to leave the bare blade on the table to clean later. She lowers herself to lay back over him, getting comfortable against his chest.  She looks up one more time to make sure he is okay to find him watching her, lips parted and eyes dark. She looks down, runs her tongue over the blood beading up over the wound, then settles down to suck. 

Carolina is moaning before her lips have even sealed over the cut, arousal hitting her like a blow to the head.  She alternates between running her tongue softly over the wound and gently sucking, savouring the salty metallic taste of his skin and blood together.  She pulls back to brush her lips over the cut, then leans back to meet his eyes, showing off her reddened mouth before licking herself clean.

“God, you're beautiful,” he breathes, hands settling on her waist, stroking her gently through her shirt. York isn't sure how much he’s allowed to touch her, so he tries for sweet and chaste. He’s so hard it hurts, enough that his eyes are starting to sting, but the way she looks as she’s feasting on him has him enraptured. “Do it again. As many times as you want.”

She tosses her hair back to make sure he has an unobstructed view and presses  her mouth to him again. God, the taste - she has tasted her own blood countless times with no other reaction but annoyance or anger for whatever caused her injury. But his blood, knowing it is his - her heart is pounding over every single drop.  

Carolina can't do this much longer. Every minute that goes by wears away her resolve to not strip him down, not ride his cock, not expose them to the greatest danger of their lives. Lust is perilously close to overwhelming caution, and she is too drunk on him to care.

“Lina,” York moans, “my love, I need-- I need to come. I don't care how, but I need-- it's starting to hurt.  _ Please _ .”

On response Carolina surges up to meet him, kissing, sharing that taste of him that lingers on her lips and tongue.  She finally comes up for air and to change position, swings a leg over to straddle him, grinding down onto his cock. “Like this, York?” Carolina rolls her hips again. And again. “Is this what you need?”

In response he throws his head back on a moan, the hands on her waist sliding down to grip her hips and help her move on him, along him. He can feel his eyes rolling back in his head, breath catching in his throat until each exhale is nearly a sob. York is beyond words, seeing stars and tasting iron on his tongue.

“You--” he chokes, a thousand sentiments all fighting to be voiced boiled down to four words.  _ You're what I need. _

Carolina keeps riding him, sitting up straight to watch York fall to pieces beneath her.  She moves one hand up under her shirt, shoving her bra up to massage a breast. Carolina closes her eyes, breath catching in her throat and for a second her pace falters.  “York… are you…”

Hearing his name, York cracks his eyes open long enough to see where to grab to pull Carolina down for a kiss. Just one, feeble and pleading, before he jerks under her, hard. He comes in dead silence, the air frozen in his throat as he holds her down on top of him, as close as he can get to her.

When he lets go, he falls back against the pillows, tears gleaming in his eyes as he opens them, completely exhausted.

“Don’t… stop if you need to…” he murmurs, fingers trailing down her arms to find her hand and lace their fingers together. The other he guides to his still bleeding chest and smears her fingers through the sticky blood gathering there.

But Carolina does stop.  She carefully moves off from on top of him to curl up at his side. One leg she rests on his thigh as she drags her fingers over him, painting a simple design around his wound, rough shapes that might be flowers. She feels as though a switch inside her has just been turned to “off”, her desire gone with his orgasm as though that was satisfaction enough.  She rests her head, tucked against York's shoulder, and tries not to think.

He sighs, leans into her touch, and falls asleep. There's a brief silence in the room, then York’s communicator chirps in his pocket.

“ _ Agent Carolina _ .”

Carolina starts to lift her head, then thinks better of it.  “Delta? Shit, you were still in there, weren't you. Sorry.”

_ “It was not a problem. I distanced myself once Agent York’s heartbeat picked up, and returned once he fell asleep. Do not be alarmed, he is simply exhausted. Speaking of health, it is polite to ask how a person is doing. I have been denied access to your medical records, so I shall have to settle for your potentially biased perspective on your health _ .”

York stirs.

_ “Perhaps you should retrieve me, so I might lower my volume _ ,” the AI adds in a softer voice. 

“Sure.”  Carolina doesn't even attempt to go slow or sneak the communicator out. She simply grabs it out of York’s pocket and turns over, keeping her back against him as she sets the communicator on the sheets next to her head.  “Better?”

“ _ Thank you _ .” He projects now, small and shimmering green a few inches from her face.  _ “I would prefer not to disturb him, or project myself so close to his penis. He does not like me anywhere near that part of his anatomy for some reason.” _

Carolina claps both hands over her mouth, trying to silence the wheeze as she deflates with laughter. Her shoulders shake with the effort of staying quiet, which is immediately ruined as she gasps for breath and giggles helplessly.  “Delta.. oh my  _ god _ ..”

_ “Ah. I see that genitalia is amusing to you as well.”  _

Behind her, York mumbles something as he rolls over that could have been “D, behave” had the person speaking been anywhere near cognizant.

_ “Once you have finished being amused by the word Penis, please inform me of your medical and emotional states. Take your time, _ ” he adds, going so far as to pull up a holographic chair. 

Carolina can't hide a last outburst behind her hand , but manages to recover quickly. She takes a deep breath and smiles at Delta's seated projection, equal parts exasperated and affectionate.  “I'm better. It was just my ankle, Delta. The experimental procedure was… different from what I expected, but if using it on me helps to prepare them for how to use it in a real emergency when a life is on the line, then I think my discomfort was more than worth it, don't you?  York probably wouldn't agree, which is part of the reason I would never explain it to him like that. There were plenty of other reasons to do it - enough he didn't need to know all.”

_ “Agent York’s feelings on the matter were… not what I had anticipated _ ,” Delta confesses, his hologram shifting uncomfortably. _ “I would have expected his altruism to have allowed for such a sacrifice on your part, but instead he became irrationally protective of you. But I should have taken biology more into calculations than mere logic and reasoning, so I suppose I have fallen short of projections as well _ .”

“ _ But, I don't think I need to tell you how much he loves you. If you haven't grasped the depths of it by now, you would be falling short of my expectations as well and I would have to recind your status as good enough to be his chosen spouse.”  _ A beat. “ _ That was a joke.” _

_ “ _ Aww, Delta, I'm hurt.”  Carolina smiles and reaches out to pass a finger through the top of his insubstantial head. “Out of all the challenges that we face, I never thought the true stumbling block would be you standing up for York's honor… or something.”  She grins wider. “And if we did get married, then what is your status? My brother-in-law? Has to be family of some sort- I've seen you and York interact long enough, and know only family can truly be that obnoxious to each other.”

He appears to take her question very seriously. “ _ I am not sure what role would be best for me to take. I will ignore any implications that I am actually related to Agent York, but I would not reject the comparison that I am somewhat responsible for him. I cannot find any other living family for him, so there is a large variety of holes to fill. That being said, I would prefer not to be his brother _ .”

Carolina stiffens.  “No other living family?” She whispers, quietly as possible. ”What about his mother?”

“ _ My last records of her status were nearly two years ago, when a message had come through that she had died. It has been difficult to keep track of what remains of that estate, but funds were transferred to his account. I _ …” Delta hesitates, something sorrowful entering his tone. “ _ I have not told him yet. He has expressed reservations about knowing whether she is alive or dead and thus I have concealed her status from him. Do… do you believe I am doing the right thing _ ?”

Carolina does not hesitate. “Yes. He doesn't want to know, Delta, and even if he did know, it has been two years and all he could do is grieve. There will be time for that later. Wait- wait one fucking second…” 

Carolina sits up, her next words still quiet but in a deadly hiss. “Are you telling me that a message came two goddamn years ago that she was dead- and  _ no one told him? _ ” 

_ “Yes. It had been marked low priority, and was buried in a sea of archived messages. Were I in charge of running this ship, I would have organized them better _ \--”

“But it was not deliberately withheld from him? Is that what you're saying?  It isn't just a note in his file that someone reads from time to time? Tell me, please tell me, Delta,” Carolina’s eyes burn with hate as she spits out the words, “that the Counselor did  _ not _ know of this when he made that comment about his mother in that joint meeting, that comment about her partners that he made in front of me.”

A pause. “ _ The message had been marked read, but the information in his file does not reflect this. I have no way of knowing who has read the message, or if Agent York’s public file was left intentionally un-updated.”  _

_ “ _ God, and now I'm the one deciding to keep it from him.”  Carolina covers her eyes with one hand. “But… I'm not doing it to manipulate him. I love him, and this might help keep him alive. And I will tell him, when the time is better, and tell him that I knew, because he should know that, too. And…” Carolina's voice breaks, “I'll accept whatever consequences that brings.”

His tone is perfectly mild, without judgement, but his next question hits with enough force to level a building.  _ “Is that why you have not told him who your father is, Agent Carolina _ ?” 

Carolina reels, the unexpectedness of the question crushing the air out of her.  She reaches toward Delta’s projection, pleading. “Please...god, please Delta, don't tell him. It would  _ kill _ him.  Yes, I'm trying to protect him.  What do you think he would do if he ever found out? That my father willingly and deliberately sends me into danger?  Out to save Maine in what you both considered a suicide mission? What would he think of me if he knew I accepted it?”

“He can't know, please Delta. Please, dont--” Carolina drops her face to the sheets, shaking.

_ “Agent Carolina _ ,” he says, softly and slowly, “ _ when I discovered this information I had my doubts about your character. But I have observed you very closely since that day, and nearly every choice you have made has been one that considers the cumulative good. This decision is no different. I will not usurp your efforts now. Agent York cannot know. But not because he would love you any less. _ ”

_ “I have no understanding of familial bonds, so I have no judgement to level. But should Agent York find out, I imagine it might break his will to see your devotion to a man that he does not see reciprocating that level of care _ .” 

Carolina moans into the mattress. “I can't do that to him Delta.  But I also can't abandon my responsibilities. Lives depend on it. I won't abandon my team. I won't have their deaths on my conscience - North and South, Maine and Wash…” 

“ _ And that is honorable. Do you believe the Director feels the same obligations? To protect their lives at any cost? To protect yours?” _

“If he doesn’t, all the more reason for me to protect my teammates.” A touch of heat enters her words. “I will not sacrifice my team, my friends, to save myself. And if I did, I would no longer be the woman York loves. And I would never forgive myself.”

_ “... Perhaps I have pushed this subject too hard. My sincere apologies, Agent Carolina. I did not intend to pose such a scenario to you, that you would have to choose between those options. Only to ask if you believed he loves you _ . _ ”  _ Delta’s image flickers.  _ “Shall I awaken Agent York, to comfort you? I lack the abilities to do so, and you seem in distress.” _

“I think you underestimate yourself sometimes, Delta.” Carolina says softly. She reaches for the communicator, this time not in supplication, but in communion.  “Wake him. He needs to get moving any way.”

“ _ I hope you are right, Agent Carolina,”  _ he says with a bitter note; and then something shifts, his hologram fluttering, and when he speaks again his voice is not his own but one she has never heard before - one that, in another life, would be as familiar to her as any other. “ _ This time, I'm going to save you.” _

Delta flickers from blue back to green, seemingly ignorant of any change. “ _ Waking him  _ _ up now.” _

Carolina snuggles back against York, holding her hand over his as he stirs with a groan.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, sweetheart,” Carolina presses a kiss to York's bicep, “But you need to get moving.  You need to change, for one.” 

“Shoot me,” he mutters darkly. Then he groans again. “I didn't even get you off, did I? Fuck.”  

Carolina turns as far as she can over her shoulder to kiss him on his forehead. “I couldn’t anyway. Too much on my mind. I am just glad you got to. I think you needed it way more than I did.” 

“That makes it even worse,” he laments, “‘m supposed to help you fuck your worries away.” York kisses her on the mouth and hisses when he moves, feeling the drying semen pull at his skin. “God, at this rate we’re going to ruin all the clothes I have with cumstains. Is this part of your daring plan, to have me naked all the time?”

“Maybe one day there will come a time where I don't have to come up with something devious just to keep you naked all day.” God, this sounds like plans, but her heart is already so low and he needs cheering up. “Maybe one day we will never get dressed, never even get out of bed. Unless you want to fuck me against the wall, or in the shower, or bent over our kitchen table...we could get out of bed for that.” She wiggles against him. “What do you think?”

“I think those are amazing ideas, and if you were trying to get me out of bed you are doing a terrible job of it.” York slips his hand up the front of her shirt, pressing her more firmly against him, and nibbles the side of her ear. 

Carolina shudders and tries not to think about how she hasn't gotten off, tries to be responsible.  “Hey now, seriously. You should get going. Please? Not that I don't love this, but there's a chance I might be a mess tonight, and will need you. I don't want to keep being the reason you are falling behind, especially because you have taken on so many of my duties.  Please, York.”

“Me being a fuck up is never your fault--”

“ _ Directly, at least _ ,” Delta chimes. “ _ And Agent Carolina is right to encourage you to leave. You’ve missed a designated solo training entirely, and are supposed to do lockdown paint with Florida in sixteen minutes _ .”

“Be nice, D,” York chides, withdrawing his hand and easing Carolina onto her back. “And hey. I love you. Part of that means giving up little things sometimes. Can't always have my cake and eat it out too.” He winks and gives her one last kiss before getting to his feet with a groan of effort. 

“You promise you’ll let me know if you need me, okay? Wild horses or passive-aggressive men taking potshots at our relationship couldn't keep me away from you.”

“I promise. But don't worry too much. Just going to the mess hall, then coming back here to wait for the nurse.  It'll be good to stretch my legs a bit.” She snags his hand, pulls it in to kiss his fingers. “Love you. See you tonight.”

“Love you too. Gonna be in my armor for a few hours, if you need the reminder.” He takes her hand and presses it against the scanning cut on his chest.

That gets a genuine smile from her.  “I'll be watching. Now go. Make me proud.”  Carolina sits up, hugs him around the waist, then notices the communicator still on the bed.  “Oh, here, you're going to need this. And… thanks, Delta.” Carolina hands the communicator to York and stands. “Do I have to push you out of here or what?”

“You  _ could _ order me.” York tilts his head to the side, studying her. “But I'll go without a fight. I’m off around… 2100 tonight. Come straight here?”

“Please? No, eat first. I have no idea what kind of mood I'll be in. Take care of yourself first, okay?  Delta says you haven't been eating properly. Please don't make me ride you about this.” She's too low to make it sound like a joke.  “Go on. Wipe the floor with Florida and tell me about it after. Love you.”

“I'll bring it here. See you tonight,” and he gives her one last look before he leaves.

Carolina sighs before the door has even  completely closed, and starts peeling off her shirt. Fuck, does she ever need to shower.  Shower, food, and then maybe another nap before the nurse gets here. Carolina drops her shirt on the floor and sinks down onto the bed. Then she will find out just how bad this night is going to be.

 

* * *

 

Stealing enough food from the mess for two people shouldn’t be too hard for an infiltration specialist, but it seems everyone and their (annoyingly tall) brother wanted to catch up with him. Therefore York is about a half an hour later than he’d expected, and keys in her door code with impatient fingers.

“Carolina?” he asks, letting the door close behind him. “Lina bean?” he tries again, addressing the pile of blankets in the middle of the bed.

“I'm here.”  It hurts to mouth the words, hurts even to draw the deeper breath to speak.  “Sorry.” 

“Awwwww, sweetheart,” and York absolutely melts, setting the food down on the nearest stable surface and laying down next to her, just close enough she can feel the heat of his body. “Do you want me to hold you?”

Carolina winces as the bed moves, and as her weight shifts her joints scream. She can't react without even more pain, so she tries to stay still without tensing up.  “Not- not yet. In a bit.” She forces the next words out, hoping if he keeps talking she won't have to. “How was sparring?”

“Terrible. I won but at the cost of being around Florida for an hour.” York matches her behavior and lays very still. “Everyone’s asking about you, you know. Wouldn’t be surprised if you’d gotten some care packages while I was away today. South even sent some of her dessert with me along with some well wishes. Only slightly because North suggested, too. Can you manage some food? And then any painkillers?”

“I spent two hours throwing up. Gonna wait on food.” Carolina swallows at the memory and then keenly wishes she hadn't. “And someone did come to the door but - ignored them.  Dunno if anyone came while I was in the bathroom - was occupied. Haven't checked communicator in hours.” 

“So you did get the shot. I’m so sorry, darling.” He aches to hold her, to fuss all over her, to do anything to make her feel better but once again, this isn’t something he can fight for her. “Do-- do you want me to get rid of this food, then? So you don’t have to smell it?”

“No, please eat. So I know you have. Put anything for me in fridge. Promise I'll get to it later.” Carolina can feel him close, even without touching, and it helps, but it isn't enough.  “When you get up, sit over here? Where I can see you? Bring a chair. 'll try not to breathe on you.”

“Anything you want, darling.” He eases himself out of the bed, careful to move as slowly as possible, and starts to wrap up the parts of their dinners (a pastry each, a unopened cup of canned fruit) that will keep in her cooler and scraping the rest (baked beans, a shredded beef substitute sandwich) onto one plate. “Want me to take off my shirt, too, so you can have something fun to look at?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Her pain is breaking his heart but if he can get her to smile it’ll be worth it.

“Yeah. Would love that. Not enough art on this boat.” The most she can give him is a brief twist of her mouth to show humor. Carolina closes her eyes to focus on her breathing, trying to think past the pain. 

He pulls his shirt off but doesn't make a show of it, wheels her chair within her line of sight and settles down with food he no longer wants to eat.

“How can I help?” he asks. Last time he’d eaten her out achingly slow and tender, but she’d still hurt for the first part of it. That's not good enough. 

“Eat first. Sit there and look pretty and maybe eventually I'll feel hungry again. Or thirsty.” Carolina tries to give him another flash of a smile. “Don't look so worried, York,” she adds, “been through this before. You just didn’t have to see it. I deal. It'll be fine.”

“A hurt you've had before doesn't make it hurt any less,” he murmurs.

“True. But at least I know what to expect. At least now I have a pretty face to keep me company.” It feels like her joints are grinding, but she reaches out anyway, desperate to even just brush his fingertips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He bridges the gap and presses his fingertips against hers.

“Why do I get the feeling that you'll be a nightmare if I ever start having periods again?”  Carolina pulls back so he can keep eating, and tries to find a way of resting her arm that doesn't make her grind her teeth.  “A gentle, thoughtful nightmare… but nightmare nonetheless.”

“Yeah, but at least during those I could still eat you out.” York holds two fingers in a vee shape and slithers his tongue between them. “This? All I can do is hover. Like a mosquito. A very sexy, very stressed mosquito.”

Arousal raises a painful wave of goosebumps over her skin, and Carolina gasps through gritted teeth.  “How in the world can you still manage to turn me on when I feel this shitty? Ugh. Stop looking so utterly fuckable.” That draws a whimper of a laugh out of her. “God, what would it take for you to  _ not _ look sexy? I don't think it's possible.”

“D drills enough statistics in me to know that few things are impossible,” and York rolls his shoulders, tensing his abs as he lounges in her chair and takes a bite of dinner, “but that is highly improbable.” He chews on his food and her words. “Your mouth says  _ stop  _ but your eyes say  _ make me your dessert for this evening, Agent York. _ Which of them is telling the truth?”

Carolina smiles weakly.  “Dr. Stronach came down in person to see me and administer the injection herself. She gave me some painkillers, but I threw them up about fifteen minutes later, so they didn't help at all.” She fidgets painfully, looking York up and down.  “Been ‘bout an hour since the last time I puked. She left more for later - probably could try again. Could you get me some water?” 

Immediately, he’s back to all business. “Sure. Do you want to try a little bit of bland food so it’s not so hard on your stomach?” He’s already moving anyway, grabbing the glass from her nightstand and heading to the bathroom to fill it.

“Probably a good idea.”  Carolina waits until he is out of view before trying to sit up. She knows he would want to help, but even just the sheets and pillows feel like sandpaper to her skin.  She manages to get her legs over the side of the bed and sit up reasonably straight by the time York comes back through the door. “So, any part of our dinner even more bland than usual? What is my safest bet?”

“We’re pretty sure the sandwich bun is made of paper. When I left, Wash was trying to see if he could set it on fire. Maybe try a bit of that?” York doesn’t run to her side ready to catch her if she’s tired, but he does power walk. “Pills are where?”

“Bedside table - slow down, you're looking almost right at them...there.  Two of them.” Carolina eyes York’s plate on the floor. She probably could reach it, but the idea of bending over makes her feel a touch queasy, so she waits for York instead, just to be safe.

Carolina accepts the glass of water, and has another kick of arousal when York places both small pills on her tongue himself.  She swallows them down, letting her eyes linger on his lips, and swears internally when another shiver of desire burns along her spine. 

He holds her gaze for a moment longer before dipping to tear off a small piece of bread. He’s kneeling between her legs and it’s hard not to smooth his palm up one of her thighs, chase the bite of food she takes with a kiss, but she’s hurting and he wouldn’t dare.

“What else helps?” he asks, whisper soft.

“Give me a sec to get this down, then you want to lay down together? You'd have to be careful where you touch, but it would help just to be close, face to face.”  Carolina’s fingers skim his hair, and even that feels rough under her touch. “Even if we just fall asleep that way.”

“Of course. Every second I spend with you is a blessing,” and it’s too honest, too impulsive, and his face grows red. “Oof. That… might have been a little dramatic.”

“Trust me, there is a parallel universe somewhere where I just slammed you on the bed and tore off your pants for saying that.” Carolina closes her eyes because even with the pain, her desire to do just that is strong.  “Just… not this one. But parallel-you is getting lucky right now.”

“Parallel-me needs to stop hogging all the good stuff,” York grumbles, eying the barely touched remains of dinner.

Carolina sighs.  “You can put the rest away in my fridge if you want.  Maybe if we are both lucky you’ll have a really filling breakfast in the morning.” Goddammit, this isn't fair. It should not be possible for her to be in this much pain  _ and _ thirsty at the same time.  Fucking hormones.

“Nah, this won’t keep. Let me get it down before D makes good on installing alarms in my communicator with tailored dietary recommendations. God.” He takes a massive bite of beans and swallows most of them whole, pointing his spoon at her. “You’re lucky he’s not plugged in your brain to make helpful suggestions. I’m filtering most of his out for you.”

“I can think of far worse things than sharing my brain with Delta.” God she has to stop smiling, just for a bit, just until the pills kick in, but so far no dice. “Like sharing one with you, for example.  Every other thought would be about sex. The rest would be bad puns. Delta would be a picnic in comparison.”

“I am actually a little bit hurt by that,” York protests between bites. “First of all, my puns are  _ fantastic _ .”

“No… your  _ buns  _ are fantastic.  The rest of you too. Maybe next Halloween we an get creative with some baby powder, cocoa powder and a fig leaf and you can go as a marble statue, well-chiseled as you are.”  Carolina tilts her head to the side. “Okay, maybe something bigger than a fig leaf. Heavier too, otherwise when I walk in the room everyone will get a show.”

“I don't think you need any help with that every-other-sex-thought bit,” York remarks drily, “and only if you’ll be my Venus.  _ Birth of _ , not  _ De Milo _ . Please keep both arms, darling, or we’ll both spend our twilight years making ‘need a hand’ jokes.”

“Yeah, sorry. Might be projecting a bit there.  You know, the unbridled thirst with the hormones was not a complication I ever had to deal with before you.”  Carolina takes a breath and lies back down, in order to stop herself from letting her eyes drift over his body yet again. “just laid in the dark on my bed and cried for hours.”

The surge of empathy and compassion makes his legs buckle. “Oh, Carolina,” and he pillows his head on his arms beside her knee, “did you ever tell them it affected you like this?”  

“They know. I was given painkillers, remember. And it lasts only half a day or so someone decided that was an acceptable exchange for guaranteed six months without ‘distractions’-” Carolina shrugs.  “It always has been this way in the Project.” She frowns. “Wonder how many of the guys even know? Did you? Doesn't directly affect any of you, not sure how you would even find out.”

“North knew. I don't know how bad South’s are but I knew they existed through him. And that they made her kind of extra bitchy, but--” York shoves his face into the crook of his arm and bites his tongue. Arguing with Carolina about what's fair and what isn't won't accomplish anything. “Let me go clean this plate off and I can join you. If you still want that. …They don't even offer you, like, a morphine shot? Nothing? Just tough it out?”

Stealing from medical is becoming a very, very viable option.

“As I said, they do give painkillers - my bad luck I couldn't keep mine down.  Yeah, they don't do a whole lot more than take off the edge, but I think if there was another option, it would have been offered.  I'm not going to risk taking anything without approval - I don't have the first idea what kind of drug interactions could be at risk, and don't want to find out the hard way. And why would you think I wouldn't still want you in bed with me?”

“If I keep making you thirsty,” he shrugs, still not quite satisfied, “I can stop making jokes at least.”

“York,” Carolina gives him a long, even look, “You could be three systems away, and still turn me on. But if you don't feel comfortable,” she drops her eyes to the mattress next to her, “you can just stay there. I'm not going to force you or anything.” 

“Just don't wanna hurt you, is all.” He gives up and surrenders to the urge of laying one hand on her thigh, light and gentle, a barely-there touch. “Let me clean up, then I'll be right there. Anything else you want while I'm up?” 

“To fuck you against the wall?”  She squirms a little on the sheets. “Hey, you asked. No, I'm good. Just, don't take too long, ‘kay?”

In the end it takes longer than she hoped.  York puts away the food, then notices a small pile of dirty clothes that he picks up to put in her hamper. That sends him into the bathroom to see if she has anything else there that needed to be rounded up and washed, which leads to him removing and replacing all her still drying towels with fresh. He pushes her chair back to her desk, finds and replaces her brush on its usual place on the night stand, and even dives under her bed, re-emerging with her vibrator. She lets him carry on for about five minutes, trying to be patient, but finally just rolls over to hide her irritation.

“Lina bean?” he asks at last, leaning over her. “You okay? I cleaned the place up for you a little. Want me in, now?”

“Yeah.” She bites her tongue before she can say she wanted him in five minutes ago, knowing it's more the hormones making her bitchy than anything else. She doesn't turn over again  though, because now tears are picking at her eyes, and if she's not careful she'll be mad at him for that, too. 

The strip of bed she’s facing is much more narrow than the side she’s not - York squeezes himself into the narrow space and considers it his punishment for not getting her off earlier. That might have helped how she’s feeling now.

“Hey,” he says, all bleeding heart tender as he places one hand on top of hers. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Shit, now she feels soft and loving and so fucking guilty.  “Sorry,” she mumbles “go back to the other side. There's more room.”

“But you can't see me over there,” he presses, just a hint of tease. “And I'm not gonna make you roll over again. I know it hurts.” York presses a kiss to his fingertips, then his fingertips to her forehead. “So long as you don't try to shove me on my back and-- oops, sorry.”

Without hesitation, Carolina turns over again, gritting her teeth as she does. “You can either come over here like I wanted, or stay there clenching your ass against the edge of the bed to keep from falling off.  Your choice.” 

York complies in silence, settling next to her again as careful as he can. Her mood is changing on a dime and damn if that didn't feel like a slap to the face, but if nothing else he’s good at following orders.

Carolina can feel tears welling up.  She closes her eyes, as though if she can't see him, then he can't see her, never mind that the action pushes the drops out to roll down her cheeks.  “Love you. Sorry.”

“You're in pain. People get like that. It's okay.” Leaning in to kiss her tears away would jostle the bed too much, but if he picks himself up on one elbow...

York keeps the contact of his lips on her skin light and gentle, like she’s made of paper cuts and tissues. It's not a very comfortable position but fuck, it's letting him do something. That in and of itself is worth the alarm bells from putting so much weight on a recently injured shoulder.

“Love you too,” he adds, just in case it wasn't clear.

The touch of his lips, even just on her cheeks makes her stomach swoop, and she's reaching for him before she can stop herself.  She pulls him back in for another kiss but abruptly lets go when they both hiss in pain. She falls onto her back, berating herself in her own head. “What's wrong?”

“Shoulder’s a little sore from sparring, is all. Here,” and he shifts his position; on his knees, one leg between hers and his arms gripping the headboard to hold him over her. They’re not touching, and he can't hold himself like this all night, but it takes the worst weight off his shoulder and lets him lean down for another kiss so it’ll do.

“If I was in your head,” he crows, “I’d  _ also _ be filling it with practical solutions like this. Your boyfriend,” and he gives her a swift peck, “is one smart cookie.”

Carolina runs both hands down along his ribs, then returning up over his back, to rest lightly below his shoulder blades. Her lips part as she looks up to meet his eyes.  “I want you.”

“Oh,” and his arms shake with the effort of keeping him upright as arousal kicks him in the stomach. “You want-- my mouth, or my dick?”

Carolina grins up at him before closing her eyes. “Yes.”  She brings one leg up to run against him, and the pain feels distant, edged out by the flood of arousal.  “I want all of you.”

This kiss is deeper, hungrier. “You have it. All of it. All of me.”

York only pulls away when he has to breathe, and then he merely starts to kiss his way down her body. “But we should still be careful, and I have been wanting some dessert…”

A familiar burn starts down Carolina’s spine, a kind of super-charged arousal born of the flood of hormones from the injection.  She drags one foot along his thigh before hooking her leg around his hips and reaches up to grab two handfuls of his hair. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

“That,” he says, simply. Her panties aren't the nice matched pair he’d dug out for her yesterday and he’s expecting his latest request from Niner to come in any day now, so he doesn't feel too bad tearing it open at the side seam and pushing the remains out of the way to press his tongue against her slit.

His touch is a mix of pain and pleasure, and even her gasp could go either way. But she rocks her hips against him anyway, not merely hungry but  _ starved  _ for him. “More.” She doesn't care that he's barely started, doesn't care how demanding she sounds.  “More, York.”

He settles himself on the mattress between her legs, spreads her outer lips and licks deeper, circling his tongue around her clit before anchoring his mouth over it and sucking.

Carolina gives a full throated moan, bringing her other leg up to wrap around him as well.  She applies just enough pressure to make it clear she's holding him there, but not enough to force the pain to the forefront.  She presses her nails into his scalp, combing her fingers through his hair with glacial slowness before pulling him tighter against her. “Good,” she murmurs, pressing her head deeper into her pillow and fighting the urge to arch her back. “You're so good, York.”

“If I am,” he says hoarsely, “it's what you deserve.” He moves his mouth down lower to lick into her properly, moaning as she quakes under him. He keeps it slow, gentle, savoring the taste of her as she gets wetter under his touch. 

“God.” Carolina yanks on his hair, then hisses with displeasure at herself as it pulls him away. She corrals him back in, with legs and hands. Her cheeks are burning and she raises her head just enough to see him. “God, I want to slam you down and ride your face, but…” She screws her eyes up in frustration. “Tongue fuck me, York.  _ Now. _ ”

He moans agreement into the skin of her thigh, takes a deep breath and shoves his tongue as deep as it can go inside of her, curling it as he laps at her, crushing his mouth against her and closing his eyes at the feeling of her hands in his hair. York falls into a rhythm, breathing hard through his nose, literally and figuratively drinking her in.

Carolina writhes against him, torn between the impulse to push him away and to lock her legs around him and never let him go. Every breath comes out voiced - moans and whines and tiny chirps of pleasure that she can't hold back.  

“Fuck, York.”  She nearly chokes on the words as he circles his tongue inside her before pushing deep again.  She releases his hair to stroke his cheek even as she squirms.

“God, I wish I had a dick, just so you could suck it.  Just so I could come in your m-  _ fuck _ …”  Her other hand reaches down to cup his jaw as she struggles to catch her breath. “ _ I love you.” _

If the sound she makes is from pleasure or pain when he grabs her hips and tilts them up, York’s can’t tell. He can't even think, can't hardly breathe as he groans into her, knowing she can feel the vibrations as he does. All that matters to him is that she comes before he does as he ruts against the mattress.

Carolina gasps and grabs at his hair again before dropping both hands to brace against the bed.  “York, you gorgeous bast--” A shudder cuts her off and she catches handfuls of the sheets as he plunges into her harder.  “I love your tongue, I love  _ you _ and I wanna f--” She spasms again, legs tightening around him and her hands come back up to grip his wrists.  “ _ York--”   _ Carolina presses her head back into the pillow and wails as she comes.

York helps her rides it out with slow, gentle strokes of his mouth, catching his breath as best he can. He’s hard but cooling down when he pulls off on her to crawl up her body and kiss her on the mouth.

“Can you taste yourself on my lips?” he asks, low and smoky, “how sweet you are?”  

Carolina’s eyes flutter open a second before she twines her arms behind his neck to pull him back down for another kiss.  “More…”

He holds himself over her and obliges with deep, sloppy kisses, mimicking the motions he’d used to plunge inside her sex once or twice before his shoulder gives out. York rolls onto his right side with a soft noise of effort, careful not to land on her, and rests one hand on her ribs.

“Good?”

“‘Course it was. It’s you.”  As the last remnants of her orgasm fade, the raw pain in her skin returns along with the ache in her joints. But whether because of sex, or because the painkillers are working, it doesn't feel quite as bad. 

She covers York's hand with her own, looks over to give him a soft contented smile. “You okay? Need to finish?”

“No,” he says honestly. “This was enough.” He didn’t come, but he finds he doesn’t need to. Unknowingly, he mirrors her in finding the satisfaction of his partner satisfying on its own.

Carolina lets out a breath and relaxes into the mattress. “Okay. I’m gonna try to sleep now. Are you staying?”

“Of course,” and he presses a kiss to her cheek. “And I’ll still be here in the morning.”

And not for the first time, not for the last time, both of them wonder how many mornings they’ll have.


End file.
